Criminal Minds: Behind the Scenes
by Forestwytch
Summary: The story of Rossi's return to the BAU, told from his point of view but mostly off-camera. A story of friendships in unexpected places, of romance and heartbreak, and his chaotic introduction to the leader of the BAU's admin support team. Nearly canon-compliant, covers mid season 3 to end of season 6. First part of a trilogy
1. About Face (S3E6)

_About Face (S3E6)_

 _A/N: I own nothing you recognise, or I'd be far richer and not doing this for fun. If I owned David Rossi, he'd never leave my bed, believe me. Hope you enjoy this as much as I've enjoyed writing it. It's not complete, but large enough now that if I don't start publishing, I never will._

 _ **Change the way you look at things and the things you look at change - Wayne W Dyer.**_

When David Rossi returned to the FBI, many, many things were different. He'd never liked change, and it seemed _everything_ had changed since he was last part of the Bureau. Even the name had changed, no longer the Behavioural _Science_ Unit but the Behavioural _Analysis_ Unit. That wasn't the only thing he didn't like.

Everything was a team effort for a start, contrary to his accustomed lone wolf tactics. He'd found _that_ out the hard way while in Dallas. He'd forged ahead by himself, and the combined looks of disappointment and disgust from the others made it clear that he'd have to change his working habits, and quickly. That wasn't how they worked, not how the BAU worked. Not anymore.

Apart from new ways of doing things, there were also new people. Lots of new people. He wasn't good with new people. Obviously Hotch he'd known for years. His protégé. The young gangly lad who used to have more elbows than arms had grown into a formidable Agent, tall and imposing, and oozing with authority and sheer alpha-male presence. It was good to see him doing so well. Morgan, Prentiss and Reid on the other hand, would take time to get to know. Especially Reid. The kid's way of spouting facts verbatim and often in excruciating detail was going to take some getting used to. Especially first thing in the morning. Reid before coffee was rapidly becoming Rossi's least favourite thing in the world.

He'd never been good at letting people in, letting them see _Dave_ , rather than the brusque exterior. Now he had a whole team-full of people to contend with, all analysing him, down to the colour of his new office walls. Not that they'd even been finished before they all piled in with their rather cutting assessment of his personality from the blank canvas he'd been given. Not exactly the best way to begin, and for the first time in a long time, Rossi found himself feeling like he something to prove.

Aside from all the profilers to deal with, there was also Jennifer Jereau, known by everyone as JJ. JJ was a Media Liaison, something Rossi hadn't really understood until watching her in action. She was an agent, but she wasn't a profiler. JJ's primary role seemed to be corralling the press, a thankless task if ever there was one. She worked wonders with the media; somehow she was able to get them to broadcast exactly what she wanted, when she wanted. Provided _he_ didn't fuck things up that was. The look she'd given him after he'd briefed the news station in Texas without her had been two parts hurt betrayal and one part terrifying fury, and wasn't an experience he cared to repeat. He had enough to cope with just trying to find his balance in the Bureau as it was, without adding to the already long list of people who disliked him. Her skills were superlative, his unwelcome interference aside, to the point that Rossi wondered how he, Ryan and Gideon had managed without someone doing what she did.

Although she didn't travel with them, it was also clear that the Technical Analyst was an integral part of the team. Frankly, Penelope Garcia seemed to be a miracle worker. It was another facet to the new way the BAU worked, so essential that it was hard to believe they'd functioned without it for so many years. Her skills with computers were nothing short of amazing, although Rossi didn't understand at least half of what she said at the best of times. His own computer skills were fairly limited, but he could get by. Or so he thought, at least until he met Garcia. Compared to her, he was stuck in the Stone Age. Garcia combined her incredible computer skills with a rather… _flamboyant_ dress sense, and a hyperactively positive outlook that would make the winner of Happiest Person on the Planet look suicidal by comparison. She was an odd one, and probably the only person as weird with everyone else as she was with him. Between the polka dots and the headbands with cat ears, Penelope Garcia was certainly unique.

As was her relationship with Morgan. It had taken Rossi a few double-takes and a quiet word with Hotch to establish that the pair weren't actually an item. They were just the ultimate expression of what a real platonic friendship between members of the opposite sex could look like, with no danger of them ever ending up in bed together. Rossi envied them somewhat bitterly for that. He had friends, not many admittedly, but none as close as they were. Not even Hotch – it wasn't like they'd spoken much while he'd been retired and selling books by the millions. The conversation about Morgan and Garcia had come with a reiteration of all Hotch's previous rather long-winded and cringeworthy warnings about inter-team relationships. It had taken Rossi some smooth talking to convince his former subordinate that the casual sexploits of his previous employment with the Bureau were not going to be repeated. He was too old for that shit any more, unfortunately.

To add to the profiling side of the BAU, sat at the back of the bullpen, almost out of the way, was the Admin Support Team. It had taken two days before Rossi even realised they were there, and another to register that they weren't field agents. It wasn't until they got back from Texas that he fully appreciated what they did. The team had barely landed and the four-strong posse of administrators swarmed them, distributing files and forms, collecting reports and delivering messages left for them while they'd been away.

AST were part of the Bureau's Business Analysis & Administration division, providing specialist support to manage everything from case files to finances. Rossi had never paid much attention to admin staff. They were just kind of…there. In the BAU however, it felt different. They weren't just paper-pushers. AST made sure the files they all took for granted were prepped and ready when they needed them. AST filed the flight plans for the jet, something he'd _definitely_ enjoy getting used to, and made sure the team had vehicles when they landed. Usually with destinations already programmed into the satnav. Hotels were booked and ready when they needed them. That had been a nice surprise too. He had not-so-fond memories of a very cold night sleeping in his car with Gideon, trying to keep warm in a blizzard because neither of them had remembered to call ahead and book a motel.

AST coordinated with prosecutors across the country as cases went to trial. AST followed up on phone calls, logged cases while the team were away. They tallied up the cost of each case that sent them out of the office and reported to the Senate Finance Committee. If there was a form for it, AST knew where to find it and who it should go to.

Nothing would work without them. For Rossi, that was quickly apparent. Yet, they were largely ignored by the profilers, simply part of the background. Much as he had always treated admin people. Perhaps there was something to be said for fresh eyes on a situation. Determined to make a good impression on at least _part_ of the team, Rossi tried to make a point of spending a few minutes each day talking to them. The initial introductions were made easier when he realised he knew one of them from his first stint in the FBI. That said, it did make him feel quite old when reconciling the grey-haired grandmother in front of him to the fiery redhead of memory. It made Rossi strangely nostalgic, that he would wind up back in the BAU with someone he'd worked with before he, Max and Gideon had even started it.

Margaret Collier had been a good agent back in the day, but was now waiting out retirement. She had four grandchildren and was quite vocal about wanting to spend more time with them. Four years previously she'd broken a leg skiing, and decided that she wanted to transfer to a desk to finish her time with the Bureau. She had her share of battle scars and didn't want any more. With just over a year until she could, in her own words, "put her feet up", Collier was the old wise head of the group. When Rossi had worked with her in the past, he'd been a rookie, but it seemed nothing had changed except her arena. Collier was still a stickler for the rules, and still treated everything as if it were a hostage negotiation. Even if said hostage was a stapler because he'd already broken his. She knew the regulations with startling and tedious precision, and would happily quote them to him, including annotations and amendments if necessary, if he questioned some new procedure that hadn't been in place the last time he'd been part of the FBI. She was worse than Reid, who would at least shut up if you told him so. That didn't work on hostage negotiators, and would just set her off on another line of disagreement if he tried.

Mark Holden was a keen young Agent waiting out a serious knee injury sustained the morning of his graduation from the Academy. Unlucky bastard, not a great way to start one's career. Not yet given an assignment, he'd been drafted into an office support role while he recuperated, much to his displeasure. Rossi couldn't blame him, the amount of paperwork these days was daunting, to say the least. While he found Holden capable, it was obvious that he had no real enthusiasm for what he was doing outside his area of expertise and often had to rely on his colleagues to help him.

Holden was typical of the new influx of Agents. Young, fit and bright, but not an ounce of street smarts. In order to apply to the Academy, a potential applicant had to have at least three years work experience in full time employment. Rossi couldn't help but wonder where exactly Holden had managed three years without developing at least some sense of how the world worked. He struck Rossi as quite naïve, and he wondered how long Holden would last in the Bureau once his sentence in office support was over. Stuck doing office work until he was declared fit, he made no secret of the fact that he'd joined the FBI to get away from it. He had a shock coming, because the paperwork a field agent had to produce wasn't that much different from what he already dealt with on a daily basis. Perhaps it would stand him in good stead, wherever he ended up. At least he'd know one form from the other, which put him light years ahead of Rossi. There were hundreds of the fucking things, and telling them apart sometimes took more patience and understanding than he could manage.

Amber Rishi struck him as a climber, a career administrator trying to work her way up the ranks. For her, a stint in the BAU was just another rung on the ladder upwards. She was quiet and efficient, and seemed to be the one who shouldered the slack that Holden left behind. She kept her head down and worked hard. Nice enough, but not very interesting.

Philippa Harker was another matter. She was the one that _really_ fascinated him. She and Garcia seemed to be thick as thieves, which might explain her peculiar habit of stashing pens in her hair. At any one time, there'd be at least two biros rammed at odd angles through her French plait. A New York City native and the leader of the AST, Harker was also a former field Agent. One reduced to driving a desk after being injured in the line, at least if the gossip was to be believed. Rossi couldn't immediately decide if he actually liked her or not, despite an initial physical attraction on his part. There was something about the way she carried herself that had immediately caught his eye, despite best intentions – every move was economical and graceful and reminded Rossi a little of a predatory cat. In short, she was self-assured, confident and utterly sexy.

Utterly sexy, that was, until she opened her mouth. Harker was unbelievably bossy and _fiercely_ argumentative. Not quite disrespectful, but _right_ up to the razor edge of it. Talking to her was like trying to have a conversation with a pissed off porcupine, all sharp quills and gnashing teeth, with the occasional hasty retreat for fear of serious injury.

Rossi couldn't help but wonder if he'd managed to mortally offend her or one of her team in the short space of time he'd been back. No matter how hard he tried, Harker wouldn't warm to him. His usual disarming charm fell completely flat where she was concerned, and she seemed quite unmoved when he'd flailed about in an attempt to appear helpless in the hope she'd "rescue" him from the paperwork. She had quite a temper, and somehow no matter what he said, it seemed to wind her up. The one time he'd let his own frustration loose at her over a form he'd filled in wrong, she'd listened carefully to what he said, then verbally handed him his ass. He'd scuttled back to his office with blistered ears and her strict instructions on how to do it properly still ringing in his head.

Hotch found all this highly amusing of course, as did Morgan. Neither of _them_ had any trouble with her and were no help to him, either. Reid seemed fairly intimidated by Harker, but that was hardly surprising. Rossi had the idea that there were times Reid was afraid of his own shadow, so there was no assistance from that quarter either. There was no doubting his profiling skills and intelligence, but when it came to physicality, Morgan more than made up for Reid's lack. Harker mothered them all equally, a combination of bluntness right up to, and sometimes over, the limit of what was appropriate in the office, and a protective streak a mile wide.

It wasn't that the others didn't get the sharp side of her tongue, they did. Nobody was exempt, it seemed, even Prentiss got it in the neck occasionally. It was more that others didn't get the domineering condescension that went with her remarks to him. Rossi was convinced that for whatever reason, Harker had it out for him.

Annoyingly, that just made her all the more intriguing. He couldn't help but go back for more, each and every time.


	2. Identity (S3E7)

_Identity (S3E7)_

 _ **It is unwise to be too sure of one's own wisdom - Mahatma Ghandi.**_

When the team returned from their trip to Montana, Garcia announced the need for a night out, and Rossi gladly agreed with the rest of them. They all needed to unwind and he still needed to get his head around the team dynamic. Working with others had never been a particular skill of his, one he'd have to polish up on in order to make good on his return to the unit he'd founded all those years ago. A night out with them seemed like a good way to do that, a chance to observe them all without UnSubs and dead bodies being involved. The prospect of alcohol also helped.

As they were leaving that evening, he overheard the AST as they packed up for the night and lingered in his office to watch and listen. Apart from Margaret, he still didn't know them all that well and being unashamedly nosy, wanted to find out more. He told himself it had nothing to do with Philippa Harker. Nothing at all. Honest.

"You _so_ need to get laid," Holden said to Rishi, tidying his desk with the simple method of sweeping its contents into his top drawer. Rossi shook his head in disbelief at the cavalier way the tall blonde treated his work. Unseen by Holden, Harker rolled her eyes. Rossi smiled to himself. At least they agreed on _something_.

Rishi blushed prettily, colour suffusing her sharply defined Asian cheekbones. "Tell me about it." She smiled ruefully. "When you start lusting after your shirtless landlord just because he smiled at you, you know it's bad."

Hidden from view, Rossi chuckled. Oh, to be young. At fifteen, a warm breeze had been enough for him to get it up. At fifty, he'd more or less grown out of that. He'd worked his way through the FBI first time around, and then being a bestselling author had definitely had its advantages. He'd had meaningless sex with a long string of nameless women over the years. None of them had warmed his bed, and if he was honest with himself, that was all they'd been doing; for more than a couple of nights at most. He'd sworn off all that when he returned to the BAU. Through all the women, he'd still been alone, and frankly, that wasn't worth the bother. It had been fun, but ultimately pointless.

"Could be worse," Holden replied. "You could be me, lusting after the completely unobtainable. When that man straps on his gun…oooh." He shuddered dramatically. "I get all hot under the collar."

Insatiable curiosity was both a useful tool and a curse - Rossi couldn't help but wonder who he meant. The natural assumption for Holden's admiration would be Morgan, with his conventionally good-looking features and incredibly well-honed physique. But it could be anybody, not necessarily even someone from the Bureau.

"Not just your collar, I bet," sniggered Harker, grabbing her bag.

Holden grinned but didn't disagree. "Amber, you need a night out, stat. We're going to Frazer's tonight."

Rishi laughed and nodded as she slung her bag over her shoulder. "You're on! Margaret, Pip, you in?" she offered.

"I got the grandkids this evening," said Margaret, shaking her head. "You young 'uns go out and enjoy yourselves, don't forget you gotta work tomorrow," she cautioned.

Rossi smirked. Nothing changed there then, either. She always had been a party-pooper.

"I'll keep them out of trouble, don't you worry," said Harker. "Say hi to the little ones for me."

Margaret nodded and swept regally away.

"Let me change and I'll be with you," said Harker, looking at Holden and Rishi who were obviously ready to leave. "Mark, I want that analysis on my desk by ten tomorrow, and the complete file workup for the DA by midday."

"Hey! You said I had until the afternoon!" protested Holden stridently.

Harker took a step toward him. "That was before I watched you sweep it all into your drawer without so much as looking at it," she said sternly. "You want to treat your job here that way, fine. I know this isn't what you'd signed up for. Just don't expect me to take it easy on you because of that."

Holden outweighed Harker by at least 100 pounds and more than a foot in height, but the blonde just dropped his eyes.

"Yes, Boss," he muttered.

"Oh, don't go all subservient on me," said Harker dismissively. "You know I hate it. Just do your job and I won't have to be such a nag." She gave him a teasing smirk. "Besides, we both know it's not me you want bossing you around anyway." Holden flushed alarmingly and ducked his head as Rishi started to laugh.

Harker turned away grinning, heading for the exit. She passed Morgan by the door, giving him an absent smile as he held it open for her. "Don't leave without me!" she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Rossi bailed on the team night after his fourth scotch, feeling a little thoughtful. Morgan and Garcia were grinding on the dance floor, and if he hadn't known their relationship was entirely non-sexual, he would have told them to get a room. Hotch had left after one drink, wanting to see Jack. Leaving JJ and Reid with Prentiss at the table they'd cornered, Rossi stepped out into the cool night air. It was different, being in a team, but even from the short time he'd been part of it, he could see the appeal. They were more like a family. They cared about each other, each other's personal lives. Not something Rossi was used to from work colleagues. Definitely something to think about. Doing that would mean _letting people in_ , and he hadn't even managed that with any of his wives, not really.

Deciding to walk while he thought, Rossi wandered aimlessly through the streets as he turned over the relationships he was starting to appreciate between members of the team. Reid was like everyone's kid brother, the one everyone looked after. Morgan was obviously the protective older sibling of the family. JJ and Reid were close, not like Morgan and Garcia, but enough that JJ knew more details of Reid's personal life than, say, Emily. Who was watched very closely by Hotch, who in turn was the focus of a combined sense of warm solicitousness from the three girls as the father-figure of the team. They were all close, but there were particular nuances in each individual's relationship with each one of the others that he needed to understand, and presently didn't. His own place in the dynamic was also currently unclear. Rossi's feet took him to Frazer's and on impulse, he went in. It had nothing to do with wanting to see if Harker was still there.

Well…no...yes. Yes, it did. It had everything to do with it. Obviously. Who was he kidding? He was still telling himself it was a stupid idea as the door closed behind him.

It wasn't his usual sort of place, the music too loud and too modern for his taste. Rossi ordered a scotch and sat at the bar, absently watching the younger crowd writhe to the music as he sipped his drink.

"A Mango Mule, a Mai Tai and a beer please," came a familiar voice from his left, just as he had decided to leave.

Rossi turned his head to see Harker leaning up against the bar next to him. Unused to seeing her in anything other than business attire, he took a moment just to admire the view. He couldn't help it. She was wearing a soft three-quarter sleeve cream jumper that hugged her curves, and a pair of jeans that looked like they'd been sprayed on. Mid length hair, now freed from its French plait, cascaded down her back in a riot of luxurious chestnut waves. What had intended to be a casual glance turned into a detailed evaluation, and the longer he looked, the more he liked what he saw. He'd vowed to mend his lothario ways on returning to the Bureau, but that figure, in those jeans, was enough to make Rossi want to throw that idea _right_ out the window. Despite her treatment of him. Her resistance had already piqued his interest, but seeing her like this only heightened it.

She noticed his attention and her eyes widened at the unexpected sight of him. "Hi! Um, I mean, hello sir."

"We're off the clock Harker, no need for that in here." Rossi threw down a bill without looking as the bartender came back with her drinks. "I'll get those. Another scotch on the rocks as well."

"Thanks." She looked puzzled, no doubt wondering why he was there. Rossi was starting to wonder the same thing. "Do you…do you want to sit with us?" Harker offered cautiously, when his drink and change arrived.

"Yeah, why not?" Rossi agreed casually. As if he was going to let that wonderful view leave his sight. "Lead the way."

He followed her through the crowded bar, carrying his scotch and the beer she'd ordered, watching her ass as it swayed in those sinful jeans. She led him to a corner table out of the way and scooted round the back to set her back against the wall. Rossi shuffled round the table to sit next to her, facing the crowd on the dancefloor.

"I would ask if you came in here often, but I can see you hate the music," she said, her eyes not on him but on their surroundings, flitting from one place to another, never still, as if constantly assessing potential threats. They would graze across him only occasionally, leaving a trail of imaginary warmth in their wake. By the look of it, it was a habit deeply ingrained.

Harker sipped her drink. "Not my thing either, I'm only here to keep an eye on those two." She briefly nodded her head towards the dancefloor before her eyes continued to rove the crowd. Following the direction she'd indicated, Rossi could after a moment recognise the slender form of Rishi and the tall frame of Holden, both dancing to the music.

"Someone's got to make sure Amber and Mark get home ok. I'm the boss; it's my job to look out for them," she added.

"And you?" asked Rossi, trying to subtly shuffle as close as he could. Her scent was intoxicating, far more potent than the scotch in his glass. "Who makes sure _you_ get home ok after however many of those you've had?" he asked, gesturing to her cocktail with his own drink.

She looked at him, amusement clear. "I'm still on duty. Someone has to stay sober, and it wasn't going to be them, not tonight." She took a sip of her drink. "There's no alcohol in it. Mango, honey, lime and ginger beer."

"And some salad," he commented drily, pointing to the cucumber floating on top. "I don't trust drinks with salad in them."

Harker laughed easily, her eyes returning to their task of scanning the crowd. "I'd prefer red wine," she agreed, "but I've got two love-sick team members out looking for a good time. I've worked with them both long enough to know that tonight, they need someone to supervise." She grinned. "Both of them looking for Mr Right, but this evening, Mr Right Here Right Now will do."

Rossi laughed with her. "So, you're stuck being wingwoman for two horny young agents. That can't be an easy job." He gave her a slow smile. "Not to mention a lonely one."

"You have _no_ idea," she said with a rueful grin. Her head whipped around as she spotted something. "And that's my cue, right there." Harker sighed. "Amber always finds the asshole if there's one available. Although in a place like this, it's not like you have to aim," she added darkly.

She quickly manoeuvred herself out from behind the table and Rossi was temporarily transfixed by the view of her lithe form flexing and bending as she moved. A jolt of pure desire shot through him as he was treated to a brief flash of skin at her right hip as her jumper rode up slightly.

Rossi turned to follow the direction of her movement, to try and see what she'd noticed. Harker was quickly approaching a man on the dancefloor who had Rishi in a firm grip. Rishi looked distinctly uncomfortable and the blonde who had grabbed her leaned over threateningly. Rossi started to get up to help, but having sat next to Harker, the table was in the way. By the time he'd navigated his way round it, Harker was already on her way back and the blonde who'd grabbed Rishi was nursing a sore wrist. Harker had one arm around Rishi's waist, guiding the younger woman's steps. Rishi was obviously having trouble walking in a straight line.

Rossi sat back down in a hurry, trying not to look like he'd assumed Harker would need his help.

"What did I tell you?" she asked her drunken friend as she parked her on a seat. "I told you he was an asshole."

"But he was cuuute," slurred Rishi, the alcohol thickening her Californian accent. "I hate men." She downed the Mai Tai Rossi had bought and laid her head down on the table with a theatrical groan.

Harker rolled her eyes for Rossi's benefit. "See what I mean? At least Mark's having better luck."

It took Rossi a moment to find Holden again amongst the press of bodies in the bar. When he did, it took a moment to process what he was seeing. That answered one question, anyway. He looked back at Harker in shock.

"That guy he's…he looks just like…"

Harker grinned. "Don't even go there. Mark's had the hots for Agent Hotchner since he joined the AST six months ago. Now every guy he goes out with is tall, dark and brooding. I don't know how he always finds them, but somehow, everywhere we go, there's an Agent Hotchner lookalike." She snorted with laughter. "If I didn't know better, I'd say Mark's convinced someone to do surveillance on the local bars for him so he knows where to look."

Rossi sat back and drained his scotch. "I'm not sure what to say to that."

"You'll say the same as me," said Harker seriously. "Nothing. Apart from the fact that Agent Hotchner would probably kill him if he found out, the rumours alone would ruin Mark's career and he'll be a good Agent one day." She shrugged. "He'll get over it eventually, find an equally handsome and thoroughly decent man and settle down. It's not like he'll be with us for that much longer. If his knee passes the next fit test they've scheduled in a few months' time, he'll be gone, finally doing field work like he wants." She gestured to his empty glass. "You might as well drink that beer, Mark won't be coming back for it now he's pulled."

Rossi shrugged and moved the bottle closer. He'd bought it after all, no point it going to waste. They sat for a moment just drinking their drinks, Pip avidly people watching, Rossi avidly watching her. Outside the office, she was more relaxed, less antagonistic. Despite her constant assessment of their surroundings.

"What did you do before you joined the FBI?" he asked, just to break the silence between them. He wasn't about to ask about the rumours of her previous field career, but enquiring as to her history before that seemed safe enough.

"I served," she said cryptically, but didn't elaborate.

"Me too. Marines," he added when she raised a questioning eyebrow.

She raised her glass in salute. "Ooh rah."

They touched glasses and drank. The awkward silence returned. For once Rossi had no idea what to say.

"I imagine it's a bit strange being back in the BAU," commented Harker eventually. "A lot must have changed." She broke off her surveillance of the bar to consider him intently over her glass. It was a bit disconcerting actually, because being the sole focus of her regard like that was not something Rossi had yet experienced. It felt a bit like he was being _measured_ , although against what, he couldn't have said.

"It must be a bit weird," she added, breaking off her scrutiny, her eyes roaming the crowd once more.

"You could say that." The evening's scotch consumption and that peculiar visual assessment loosened his tongue a little, and Rossi found himself spilling his innermost thoughts. "Being part of a team is going to take some getting used to. I'm a creature of habit; I'm used to working on my own. I've got to figure out how to share, how to delegate, to rely on others instead of doing it all myself. It's all different." He tipped his glass at her. "Almost. The volume of paperwork is the same. Still a form for _everything_. I swear, one day soon I'm going to come across the form for taking a dump on Bureau time. It's nice having people to help with that."

Harker burst into laughter. "I'm sure you don't need help doing _that_ , sir," she said still giggling, wiping her eyes.

Rossi laughed and held up an admonitory finger. "Dave. Or Rossi, if you must. Not sir, not here…or anywhere actually. I'm not your boss."

She rolled her eyes. "Fine," she said sarcastically. " _Rossi_. I'll give you a tip. Flattery in the right place makes the paperwork easier, Garcia isn't the only one who runs on that currency." She grinned. "Or chocolate, that works too."

"Noted," he replied warmly. "Just the paperwork, or other things as well?" he asked trying to sound suggestive. He couldn't help it.

Harker smiled, immune to his attempt at seduction. "Other things too. Flights, legal work, filing, research, even archive retrieval. Anything you need."

"Anything?" That came out a little huskier than before, and Rossi punctuated it with a flirty wink, laying it on thick.

"Nuh-uh." She waved her drink at him. "There's a difference between flattery and flirting," she said sharply. "Find it."

"Pip? Come with me to loo?" mumbled Rishi, preventing Rossi from following up on that comment.

Harker shot Rossi a long-suffering look and with ease that spoke of practice, woman-handled Rishi from her seat and led her in the direction of the toilets. Leaving Rossi alone with his drink and his thoughts.

About fifteen minutes later, they re-emerged, Rishi a little pale but not swaying as much as before.

"Sorry, there was a queue. Time to get these two home I think," said Harker, thrusting Rishi towards the seat next to him. "Can you babysit for a minute while I go extract Mark from that guy's tonsils?"

She left before he could reply and Rossi found himself holding the limp girl upright.

"I love her. So so much," mumbled Rishi. "Boss looks after us." She squinted at him, clearly having trouble focussing. "'S shame no one ever looks after her. Damon wasa…was a dick." Her head dropped onto his shoulder and she immediately dozed off.

Thankfully, Harker quickly returned with Holden in tow. The young man's eyes were glassy with alcohol and lust.

"Got his number!" he announced triumphantly and overly loud.

"You got more than that, hon," said Harker reassuringly. "If you two had been any closer I'd have needed surgery to pry you apart."

"I know, right?" Holden grinned broadly.

Harker smirked at Rossi, sitting awkwardly with Rishi asleep on his shoulder. "Glad it's not just me she does that to." She shook Rishi's arm. "Hey, Sleeping Beauty! Amber! Time to get our carriage home."

Rishi mumbled something unintelligible and tried to get up. Rossi stood, lifting her negligible weight with him as he did so. It seemed easier than waiting for Rishi to find her balance. Between them, they walked the tipsy pair to the door and out into the cool night air.

"Thanks Rossi," said Harker gratefully as the noise of the bar faded behind them.

The cold woke Rishi up some, enough to make her nauseous. She leaned over a handy trash bin and threw up.

Rossi dodged back just in time to avoid getting a shoe-full. "Shit!"

"Oh God, Rossi, I'm so sorry!" cried Harker, now staggering under the weight of Holden, who was considerably bigger than she was. "They're not usually this bad, I swear." She pulled Amber upright again and dug in her pocket for a tissue for her friend to wipe her mouth. "Did she get you?"

Rossi examined his pant cuffs. "It's ok, I think I'm good." He grinned, seeing the funny side. "Her aim is pretty poor. She had her head all the way in that bin and still managed to miss."

Harker sniggered. "Why d'you think she's an accountant, not a field agent?" Harker readjusted her grip on her team mates. "I told you not to drink cocktails in one hit, but would you listen?" she said to Rishi. "Nooo," she added sarcastically, "because it's not like I haven't done the same thing, many, many times before, is it?" She looked up at Holden. "You alright there, handsome?"

"'m good," mumbled Holden, lurching to his left. Harker tightened her grip as both she and Rishi were dragged sideways by Holden's bulk.

"Um, Rossi, could you hail us a cab please?" asked Harker, looking rather embarrassed. "I appear to have my hands full here."

Rossi put his arm around Holden, taking some of his weight and flagged down a passing taxi. "I'll help you get them home." Seemed like the gentlemanly thing to do, given the state of her two friends.

"You're a lifesaver."

Holden peered at Rossi as he folded him into the back seat of the minivan cab he'd flagged down. "You're a fine lookin' one," he slurred.

"Mark Ernest Holden! You will sit there and shut up before you say something I have to hit you for! He's off limits!" barked Harker from the seat in front. "Sorry Rossi," she added. "He's an outrageous flirt when he's like this."

Rossi chuckled, buckling his belt in the seat next to Holden. "It's fine," he reassured her. "It's kind of flattering, in a rather awkward, completely unreciprocated sort of way."

"She's scary when she's mad," stage-whispered Holden, leaning over with a waft of second-hand beer. "Domineering. I like that."

"Oh, just kill me now," muttered Harker resignedly, slumping down in her seat. Rossi laughed.

Rishi seemed to perk up having ridded herself of her stomach contents and managed the steps to her place with no trouble. Holden had fallen asleep on Rossi in the back seat at some point and it took both of them to guide him into his apartment. He landed face down on his bed and started to snore pretty much immediately. Harker rolled him onto his side and quickly and methodically divested him of his shoes, tie, shirt and pants.

"You've had practice at this," said Rossi from the doorway. He'd given up trying to help, having got in her way one too many times.

"Yeah, too much," she agreed.

"There's help if you think they're drinking excessively."

"Not them." She shook her head. "Tonight…there's extenuating circumstances." She paused her actions and looked up at him briefly. "Amber and Mark have both been through the mill recently," she said before returning to her task. "Bureau's hard on relationships, even if you're not in the field. We're there for those who are, so our hours are the same. We're not home that much, no matter how close to work we live. It's tough when that fucks things up."

"Yes, it is." He'd heard the same tale many times before. Sounded like his first and second marriages as well actually, work always taking priority over his personal life. Although given his previous attitude towards administration staff, he'd never considered they'd suffer the same way field agents did. His curiosity got the better of his tongue. "If not them, then who?"

"An ex," she replied absently, mind clearly on what she was doing as she finished undressing her friend.

"Damon?" Rossi asked. The glare she levelled at him made him take a step back and raise his hands in placation. "Rishi mentioned him before she dozed off on me earlier." For some reason he felt the need to explain, to make it clear he hadn't been deliberately prying into her past. "She said he was a dick."

Harker huffed as she pulled the covers up over the sleeping form of her colleague. "Yeah." She bit her lip, the first sign of uncertainty he'd seen on her.

"Was he…"

He didn't finish the sentence. She was in front of him in the space of an eye blink, right up in his personal space. The uncertainty had vanished under the stern glare he was becoming rather familiar with, having been on the receiving end of it several times already.

"Look, Rossi. You're my colleague and while it might not always look like it, I respect you one _hell_ of a lot. Take this in the way I mean it." The glare turned cold and frosty. "Leave it the hell alone." She brushed past him roughly. "I hope the cab's still there, that took longer than I'd planned."

The cab they'd hired _was_ still there, held by the large tip Rossi had dropped before they'd carried Holden up the front steps. The ride to Harker's place was quiet. Her building was an older three storey house, each floor converted to a self-contained apartment. Harker lived on the top floor, in what used to be the attic. Rossi walked her up the stairs inside, all the way to her door, feeling vaguely guilty for bringing up something that obviously still hurt and desperately trying to think of a valid excuse to invite himself inside.

"Harker…"

She cut him off with a wave of a hand. "One of my closest friends tried to throw up on you and you've just watched me strip and pour a drunken subordinate into bed. This evening I think you earned the right to call me Pip, same as my little band of paper herders." She unlocked her door and turned to face him in the doorway. "If you're thinking of apologising, forget it. You should mind your own business and I shouldn't have snapped at you. We're even."

Rossi nodded, smiling. She was back to bossing him around, familiar even after the evening they'd spent together. That seemed to be the best outcome he was going to get. "Fair enough."

"Good night Rossi."

"Good night Pip."

The door closed and Rossi made his way back down the stairs. He'd almost made it to the ground floor when he heard the scream above him. He raced back up the stairs and burst through Harker's door with his gun drawn, frantically looking around for her.

"Pip?"

Her apartment was the entire attic level of the house, the floor plan set out into a cosy one bed apartment. A sofa and a sturdy-looking wooden coffee table sat under the eaves to his left, and a dividing wall had been put up between the living room and the room next door. Mainly so her huge plasma TV had somewhere to hang from the looks of it. A games console and controllers were messily arranged in front of it, along with a beanbag where she'd obviously sit and play. Bookshelves covered every other wall surface in sight. To his right was a short hallway leading to her bedroom and the room adjoining the living space.

A noise from that room caught his attention. Rossi strode through to what turned out to be the kitchen, to find Pip standing on a stool, one of two she had at a small breakfast counter opposite the stove and other appliances. She was alone, and seemed perfectly whole and unharmed.

"What the fuck?" Still holding his gun at the ready and looking around for an attacker, Rossi moved to look up at her. "Why'd you scream?"

"Spider!" she gasped, pointing under the stove. "Fucking big one!"

Rossi turned to see the spider in question dash towards the door in a bid for freedom. It was a fair size. Behind him, Pip squeaked in fright and scrambled up onto the counter top.

With a sigh, Rossi holstered his weapon and retrieved a glass from the draining board. He bent down and used it to pick up the offending arachnid before tossing it out the window.

"I thought you were being attacked," he said disapprovingly as he rinsed out the glass.

"I was!" retorted Pip, climbing down from the counter. "Fucking things sneak in and lurk somewhere to just scare me, I'm sure of it."

Rossi couldn't help but laugh as he dried his hands. "You've been an FBI agent for how long? And a little house spider scares you?"

"Yes!" She let out a somewhat shaky breath. "And it wasn't little. That was _huge,_ you could practically hear its footsteps. Thank you, you're my hero."

Rossi tried and failed to ignore the warmth in his chest that statement brought. He stepped closer to her. "I bet you say that to all the men," he purred.

Pip snorted. "Hardly."

"So, just me then?" he asked seductively, moving even closer. He put one hand on the counter, moving into her personal space, half-trapping her against the worktop. He could feel the heat of her body, and it reignited the desire he'd felt earlier. "Why don't we talk about that?" he asked softly, leaning closer.

Pip laughed lightly and stepped round him, out of his range. "Go home Rossi, before the scotch does something you'll regret in the morning." The smile in her voice soothed the harshness of the words. She busied herself setting up the coffee maker, setting a timer so it would be ready when she got up in the morning.

Rossi leaned against the counter to watch her, male ego smarting a little from her rebuff. "Who says I'd regret it?"

She turned and fixed him with a look he couldn't decipher. "I do." Pip tilted her head to one side. "And so would I."

Finished with her coffee maker, she moved back to the living area, towards the front door. Automatically, Rossi followed. He caught sight of a small but well-appointed bathroom opposite the kitchen as he passed, and couldn't resist a glance back towards her bedroom.

"It's late, and I'm going to bed. Alone." She'd caught his peek at her bed, then. Pip opened the door for him. "I'll see you in the morning, and you can thank me then."

"As my lady commands." Rossi bowed, exaggerating the movement and brought her hand up to his lips to press a gentle kiss to her knuckles.

Pip chuckled. "Go on, you. Go home, sleep it off."

"Yes ma'am."

"Don't call me "ma'am"!" she objected.

"What do I get, if I do?" he asked cheekily.

"A clip round the bloody ear, that's what!" Pip swatted him on the arm. Softly enough that it wasn't meant to hurt, but hard enough for Rossi to get the point. Time for him to leave.

"Well, I wouldn't want that on a first date would I?" He couldn't resist teasing her.

Her laughter followed him down the hall. "It wasn't a date!" she called after him.

* * *

Rossi watched as Pip examined the bottle of wine that he'd left on her desk. Chianti. Her favourite, he'd surmised, from a brief glance at her wine rack the night before, and far more expensive than any she had bought for herself. She had been right. In the cold light of day, he could see that leaping into bed with her would have been a monumental mistake. Hotch would have serious words to say if he thought he was sleeping with one of the team, having sworn off that kind of behaviour when he re-joined the BAU. Many times over, in fact.

Pip picked the bottle up, turning it round to read the label. Stuck to the back was a simple yellow post-it note, written in his best calligraphy. _"Thank you."_

Pip smiled to herself and slipped the bottle into her bag. She caught sight of him watching and nodded in acknowledgement.

His office blinds were open and from his vantage point, he could see as her colleagues started to quiz her about the origins of the bottle. Rishi seemed fairly ok considering the state she'd been in the previous evening, but Holden looked very sorry for himself. Margaret looked on disapprovingly as the three younger agents laughed and joked. Rossi smirked as Rishi flushed bright red and glanced up towards his office, before burying her face in her hands. He could guess which part of the night _that_ was about. Holden did much the same a few moments later and Rossi laughed outright. He hadn't forgotten what the young man had said.

Mostly because Harker hadn't disagreed with him.


	3. Penelope (S3E9)

_Penelope (S3E9)_

 _ **Since there is nothing so well worth having as friends, never lose a chance to make them - Francesco Guicciardini.**_

Pip finally warmed up to him after that evening in Frazer's, although Rossi was sure nobody else would notice. She still ordered him about and argued, and would still return any attempt at flirting with a pointed sassy comeback. Usually one he didn't have an answer for until several hours later. Yet the insults came with a sparkle in her eyes that told of her enjoyment of their exchanges, an enjoyment he definitely shared in. Rossi began to look forward to their mock quarrels, to the new and sometimes startling ways she could insult him. She was well-read and intelligent and it showed, despite her use of profanities - Pip would frequently use the word "fuck" as noun, adjective _and_ verb, sometimes all in the same sentence.

At first Rossi found it rather uncouth, hearing a woman swear so liberally, but soon realised that was just the way she was. As a New Yorker, the f-word was just another part of the language for her and she used it as such. It was rarely meant to be offensive, the sunny smile that came with the frequent expletives softened the potential harshness of the words.

He'd never been interested in independent, opinionated women, and certainly not bossy ones that argued with him at every opportunity. All the women that had come to his bed since his second wife became his second _ex_ -wife, had been airheads. More breasts than braincells, and that included ex Mrs Rossi #3. Harker was different, his intellectual equal. To him, her mind was just as attractive as her body.

* * *

Nothing highlighted to Rossi just how close the team really was than Garcia being shot. He thought the cannibal in Florida had been bad, but it was nothing compared to the horror they'd come home to.

Pip was at the hospital when he got there, but she was lurking in the background, away from where the rest of the team was sitting. In the waiting room, Hotch had his hand on Emily's shoulder and JJ was hugging Reid with tears in her eyes. Morgan was missing.

Pip just stood in the corridor, apart from them. Obviously hurting just as much as they were, but equally obviously not part of the camaraderie they shared. They'd become quite good friends in the short time he'd known her, their relationship one of mutual respect and friendly insults. To see her looking so vulnerable, so _not-Pip_ , somehow hurt him inside in the same way the news about Garcia had.

Rossi took it all in, in a matter of seconds. The impulse to just hug Pip to him was a strong one, but he managed to resist until he'd spoken to Hotch, not least because he didn't know how such an action would be received. In these modern days, one didn't just hug colleagues for fear of a sexual harassment suit. Litigation culture had certainly taken some of the fun out of life.

Having got an update from Hotch, Rossi stepped back into the corridor to look for Pip. She hadn't moved. She was still where he'd seen her, quivering like a leaf in a gale, her face pale and eyes wide and staring. Her bottom lip was being thoroughly gnawed upon; the little tell of distress he'd picked up on that first night they'd got talking properly. If anyone ever needed a hug, she did.

Rossi gathered her into his arms slowly, giving her plenty of opportunity to pull away from the embrace if she wasn't comfortable with it. Instead of retreating, Pip sagged gratefully against him, her gulping breaths turning to sobs. He tightened his arms round her as his shirt rapidly dampened with her tears, glad he could offer some small measure of comfort. When her breathing started to even out again, he stepped back, leaving one reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Pip wiped her eyes roughly with the back of a shaky hand. It wasn't until then that Rossi noticed the blood on her sleeve.

"I…I f-found her," she stuttered through sniffles, having caught his curious glance. "S-she had a d-date and w-we were going to…to…" Fresh tears spilled from her eyes. "I t-thought she was…I...I can't lose any more friends, I can't, I just can't…"

"Oh, Pip." Rossi hugged her to him again, more confidently this time. "You called the ambulance?" She nodded against him. "Then you saved her life," he murmured to the top of her head. "She has a fighting chance because of you."

Pip's arms snaked around his back and for a moment they just stood there holding each other. This time it was Pip who pulled away first. Rossi released her reluctantly.

"You ought to go and be with them." Pip scrubbed a hand across her face, composing herself even as she pointed behind her to the waiting room. Rossi watched with unease as she visibly shoved her feelings to one side, the emotional weeping well quickly replaced with an expression of cool professionalism.

"Agent Hotchner is going to want to take this case; I need to rally the troops." Pip turned on her heel and walked away, already pulling her cell from her pocket to start the phone calls.

As far as Rossi was concerned, the AST showed their true worth over the next few days. Watching them work made him wonder again just how they'd managed in the past without that kind of support.

With a base of operations set up in a room just down the corridor where Garcia was recovering, the four of them ran hither and thither fetching and carrying for them, making sure the team had everything they needed. All of them, but Pip especially, worked themselves ragged to keep up. Rossi found her asleep at her desk more than once, head pillowed on a stack of files. They didn't stop once Garcia was home, working tirelessly to fend off as much of the paperwork as possible so the profilers could concentrate on finding Garcia's shooter.

* * *

After it was all over, he'd had taken one look at Pip's conflicted expression and made an impulsive decision. As soon as Battle's body had been removed from the bullpen, he'd grabbed her coat and escorted her to the elevator.

"I'm taking you home," he said, pressing the elevator button.

Pip stopped in her tracks. "I don't need you to be a hero tonight Rossi," she retorted. "I've seen people shot before, hell, some of them I shot myself!" Then she smiled at him in a way that warmed him inside. "You can take me somewhere with decent red wine though, I wouldn't say no to that."

Rossi linked his arm with hers and patted her hand in a friendly way. "I know just the place."

They spent hours together in a little out of the way Italian restaurant he knew of, only a few blocks from her place. Hidden down a side street, Pip hadn't even known it was there. They ate, drank red wine and argued the whole night long. Politics, books, past cases, sports; nothing was off limits as they battled good-naturedly. Rossi watched Pip carefully as she ate sparingly and drank plenty, but despite that, he couldn't remember having so much fun in a long time. He had realised early on that he'd needed this time to relax as much as she had. Tearing into Garcia as if she were a suspect had shaken him, more than he had been willing to admit.

Half way through the evening Pip abandoned calling him "Rossi" and he couldn't help but love the sound of his first name on her lips. Four hours passed in a moment and they were parting ways at her door.

"Thanks for a fabulous evening Dave, it's nice to finally have a friend who appreciates a good red wine and real homemade arancini." Pip smiled ruefully. "I'm fairly sure Mark and Amber live on burgers and Chinese takeout."

Rossi shuddered theatrically. "I'm not saying they don't have their place, God knows I've eaten enough fast food while on a case, but to live on? No, I need proper cooking."

She laughed then hiccupped halfway as her lip started to quiver. "We got him," she said through the tears that started to run down her face.

Rossi took the door keys from her unprotesting hand and opened the door. "Yes, we did," he agreed gently, guiding her inside and kicking the door closed with his foot. "Sit there," he said, settling her on the sofa and making his way to her kitchen. "I'll put some coffee on."

"I was wondering how much wine it would take to get you to admit how bothered you were by what happened," he said when he returned carrying two steaming mugs. It had taken him some time to work out her coffee machine, but her kitchen was arranged fairly logically and he'd puttered around fixing their drinks with little trouble after that. Pip had composed herself by then, no indication of her outburst outside her door remained.

"Have you spoken to anyone about it?" he asked as he sat down.

Her sofa was ancient, but in a good way. Over time, it had developed a shape of its own that made it sinfully comfortable. It was like it gave you a hug as you sat down. Rossi settled himself back amongst the multitude of cushions and pillows and took a mouthful of his coffee.

"You and Garcia are close, even I can see that," he said conversationally when she didn't answer. "But you shut yourself off emotionally as soon as you walked away from me that night in the hospital."

Pip shook her head. "I had a job to do, just like the rest of you. I'll process it, just like the rest of you." She blew on her coffee before taking a careful sip. "Garcia isn't the first friend of mine shot. One of the few who recovered afterwards, maybe," she added with a raised eyebrow. "I might drive a desk nowadays, but I know how to deal with it. I've done it before." She shrugged. "I've just not had time yet."

Her words had a trace of a slur to them, only noticeable if one listened carefully. She'd had more to drink than she thought, and Rossi planned on using that to get her to open up a little.

"Before?" he queried a few minutes later. "Does that have something to do with why you're not in the field anymore?" Her silence was enough confirmation. "Can I ask what happened?"

Pip snorted. "Haven't you heard enough horror stories recently?"

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to," he replied, although his tone said otherwise. Carrying the hurt around with you just dragged you down eventually, he knew that from personal experience.

"I would have thought you'd read it in my file." Pip stood, a little unsteadily. "It's easier if I show you."

With one movement, she stripped off her top and threw it on the couch next to him.

It took a moment for Rossi to see the scars. He was far too distracted by the sight of a perfect pair of breasts encased in white lace to immediately notice the line of five bullet wounds. But once seen, they couldn't be unseen. They travelled from left to right, rising as they crossed her body. They were stark against the other, more minor marks scattered across her skin. The first was just visible at her left hip, the last through her right shoulder.

He was torn between horror at what she must have been through, and appreciation of the half-undressed body in front of him. She was _beautiful_.

"Good God." That seemed to cover both angles, and he couldn't fully articulate what he was really thinking.

"Automatic weapon. Nerve damage means I'll never shoot straight again and I was one of only two survivors of a team of eight," she said, tracing the wounds one by one. "Ugly, aren't they?" she added, reaching over for her top to cover up again.

Rossi reached up to catch her as she stumbled and she ended up sat on his lap.

"They're not ugly at all," he said huskily, almost trembling with effort to keep his hands to himself, to keep them on her shoulders where it was safe. His eyes briefly darted down the glorious lace-enclosed breasts of their own volition, beyond his ability to resist now that they were, literally, right in front of him. They were stunning, all he wanted in that moment was to take one in his mouth and find out how she tasted.

Pip caught his glance and her eyes widened. She shifted on his lap, making her breasts sway, and smirked at him as he groaned.

"Pip…Pip...this, this is not a good idea," he managed as she wriggled. "Shock, trauma, the reaction…"

"Who cares?" she whispered in his ear, and then Rossi _had_ to put his hands on her hips, just to keep her at a distance, to stop her knowing exactly what his body's reaction to that breathy whisper had been. She didn't need any more encouragement and Rossi wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself if things got any further out of hand. Self-control was one thing, but even he had his limits.

"I do," he said firmly, mentally reciting an alphabetical list of serial killers to keep himself in check. _Adams, Berkowitz, Caputo, Dugan..._ "And you will too, come the morning. You'd hate me."

She whined and dropped her head to his shoulder. Within moments, she was asleep.

"What is it with you lot falling asleep on me?" he grumbled half-heartedly. "Do I look like a pillow?" Pip made no reply and with a sigh, Rossi scooped her up bridal style and carried her to the bedroom. He deposited her on the bed and covered her over. "Goodnight Pip."

"G'nigh' Dave," she mumbled.

* * *

There was a bottle of single malt on his desk. An expensive one. There was no note, but he didn't need one to know where it came from. He shot a look into the bullpen, but Pip was making sure she completely avoided glancing up at his office. Rossi smiled and tucked it away safely in his bottom drawer.


	4. Damaged (S3E14)

_Damaged (S3E14)_

 _ **No one is useless in this world who lightens the burdens of another - Charles Dickens.**_

Dinner together in that quiet little Italian restaurant turned into a pattern. After a bad case, they'd end up in Mama Rosa's, at what had become their customary corner table, chosen by Pip so she could sit with her back to a wall. It was effortless to decompress with her and no matter how awful the things he'd seen or learned, Rossi would find himself looking forward to landing, already anticipating a delicious dinner in Pip's argumentative company. They hadn't strayed over the platonic boundaries since that night in her apartment and Rossi found himself easing into a close friendship with her. She was easy to talk to, for all that she insulted him with nearly every breath she took and argued with almost everything he said.

She had argued with him about going to Indianapolis by himself, and she argued with him again when he called to complain that Garcia had read Morgan and JJ in on what he was doing.

"I didn't want them involved," he griped, hand gripping his glass of scotch tightly in anger.

"Don't be thick, it doesn't suit you."

"What?" he couldn't keep the incredulity from his voice. She'd called him many things before, but never stupid.

"You're being pig-headed and arrogant. Grow up; you're old enough to know better."

"Excuse me?" he growled, his temper rapidly fraying. Jibes about his age aside, being told to grow up like he was a recalcitrant teenager just stoked the fire already burning.

"Look, I had a very small pile of fucks to give today and they're all gone, so you're shit out of luck if you think you're getting one," Pip said, her voice ratty. "You'll need their help, and you know it. Quit protesting something that's actually good for you."

Her sharpness cut through the anger that had risen as soon as Garcia called him. It had been a while since he'd earned that particular tone, and Rossi started to wonder if it was actually him she was pissed off at. He let his breath out in a huff of frustration and the death grip he had on his glass eased as his ire started to drain away, replaced instead by concern for Pip.

"Garcia rang to tell me they were coming," he grumbled. "I'd like to have at least finished unpacking before finding out everyone else was coming haring after me."

Pip snorted. "You're a neat freak and you left your office a mess, thanks for that by the way, and Penny caved instantly when they started asking questions. I love her, but she can't keep a secret. I was going to warn you the team were on their way, but she beat me to it."

"Apparently, they'll be here within the hour." Garcia had sounded rather contrite telling him that, although that could have been for the sight he'd seen when he'd knocked on her door the previous night. IT nerd Kevin Lynch clad only in a towel was _not_ an appetising image as far as he was concerned, but clearly Garcia had other opinions on the matter.

"I know," Pip said, a trifle smugly. "Although I think she soft-pedalled that a bit. By my calculations, they already landed and are on their way to your hotel now."

"I'm overjoyed," he sneered, making sure she knew he was anything but. "I've just settled down with a scotch and now it looks like I won't even be able to have that in peace, either." He paused. "How do you know where they are?"

"Who do you think filed their flight plan? You lot wouldn't go anywhere unless I organised it first," she countered. "I booked your flight too, or did you forget?" she asked abruptly.

"And you went along with this...this _intervention_?" he spat the last word, his fury much abated but still bubbling beneath the surface.

"I do what I'm told."

Rossi chuckled despite himself and the anger which had been fading as they talked, finally evaporated. "Since when?" he asked with a smile. "You fight me at every turn."

"It's good for you, keeps you on your toes," she retorted. She sighed and when she spoke again, she was completely serious, all the bite gone from her voice. "Dave, I know this is a bad one, I know how long you've been carrying it around, and I know why." Pip hesitated. "Do they?"

"No." Rossi paused to take a sip of the drink in front of him. "I haven't talked about it with anyone." The unspoken "e _xcept you"_ sat between them on the line, a silent admission of just how close they'd become in such a relatively short period of time.

"Go easy on them when they arrive," said Pip eventually. "They're just worried. So am I, frankly, but at least I know what's going on. They don't."

"I'll try. Thanks Pip." He felt better for speaking to her, but now wanted to know what had rattled her cage so badly, because by then he was convinced it wasn't anything to do with him. Rossi glanced up from contemplation of his glass and groaned. "JJ's in the lobby."

"Be nice." Pip chuckled. "I'll see you when you get back."

"You'll wait?"

"Count on it."

Rossi hung up, took a fortifying gulp of scotch, and waited for JJ to spot him. It didn't take long.

* * *

The Galen case had hung around his neck like a millstone for so many years that Rossi felt about a hundred pounds lighter as he trotted down the steps from the jet. That feeling lasted right up until he pushed open the doors to the BAU and realised Pip wasn't there waiting for him like she said she would. Feeling a little lost, Rossi dropped the case files and his briefcase onto his desk and just stood there for a moment, wondering what to do. It felt like he'd been stood up and that hadn't happened since he was in college. He knew from the work he'd been doing on the plane that she was still in the office, or at least, had been half hour previously. Despite that, she was nowhere to be seen.

Now what?

Rossi caught a flash of movement by the elevator out of the corner of his eye, and recognised her long hooded coat. He intercepted the elevator doors just as they were closing and slipped in to stand beside her.

"Were you going to stand me up?" he asked, only partly joking. He tried not to sound out of breath, but his time from office to elevator was definitely a personal best, if not an all-time record. He glanced sideways at her. Unusually for the office, her hair was down, long chestnut waves hiding her face from him. "We're supposed to be going out to celebrate."

"I can't. Not tonight," Pip said quietly. "I'm sorry."

Concerned now, Rossi moved to stand in front of her. Pip turned her head away and looked down at the floor.

"That's the first thing you've said to me since I've known you properly that wasn't frustratingly argumentative, unbelievably bossy or on some level, insulting," he said, trying to make his tone lightly teasing. "I've gotten used to that. But you were trying to leave without saying _anything_ and now you won't even look at me." Rossi tried to lift her chin to see her face, but Pip backed away from his hand, moving out of reach. "I want to know what I've done wrong."

"Not everything is about _you_ ," she snapped, moving to step around him as the elevator doors opened.

Stunned momentarily by the harshness with which she spoken, Rossi almost missed the darkness on her face between locks of her hair as she passed him. Almost. Pip had been careful to keep her face turned away, but not quite enough. Rossi took two large paces forward and grabbed her arm, releasing it just as quickly when she hissed in pain. He held onto her shoulder when she tried to turn away from him again.

"Pip?" Rossi tried to sound gentle, but he was starting to get really worried. "Come on, you know you're not going to get rid of me that easily."

She looked at him then, brushing the hair from her face. The bruising around her right eye was a deep purple, fading to blue at her brow line. The mark on her jaw was lighter but no less painful-looking.

The sight of her, of his _friend_ all beaten up, took him from anxious to angry in the space of a heartbeat. "Who did this?" he hissed furiously, the hand on her shoulder tightening involuntarily. "Who hurt you?" He was going to find out, then he was going to mete out some good old-fashioned eye-for-an-eye retribution for what had been done to her.

"I don't need you to be my knight in shining armour to come and _rescue_ me," she spat, knocking his hand away. "I'm _perfectly_ capable of looking after myself." Pip huffed and folded her arms defensively across her chest. "I _knew_ you'd react like this, why do you think I didn't want you to see? I was going to call you when I got home, I didn't realise you'd be back from the airstrip already."

For some reason, her anticipation and acceptance of his visceral reaction calmed him down a little. "What happened?" Rossi asked, a little more composed than before.

Pip shook her head. "It's nothing. He got in a few licks before I restrained him, that's all."

"Who?" He still needed to know, and her dismissal of the whole incident was starting to really aggravate him. "It wasn't on the job; you're not in the field."

The look she gave him came with some of the sass he'd got used to enjoying. "Gee, thanks for the reminder," she said sarcastically, "sometimes I forget." Pip shook her head again. " _Give up,_ Dave. This conversation isn't happening. I won't tell you because it doesn't matter."

"Matters to me," Rossi muttered. But he knew he wouldn't win, he never did with her. That was part of the reason she fascinated him, because she was even more stubborn than he was. She could teach stubbornness to _rocks_. "Look," he said in a more conciliatory tone. "I was looking forward to a proper baked ziti with a celebratory glass of vintage red and this has got in the way. I'm more than a little pissed off, on both fronts."

She laid a gentle hand on his arm. "Well, how about this? If you promise not to mention it, ask me questions about it, refer to anything possibly on the subject of it, or attempt to get a name out of me all evening, I'll let you take me to dinner." She gestured to her face. "Black eye and all." Her voice, while full of artificial saccharine sweetness, was forged steel underneath.

"With an offer like that, how can I possibly refuse?" he asked, heart lighter now that she was giving him attitude. It was a vast improvement on her behaviour in the elevator. Rossi smiled. He was a profiler after all, and he was fucking good at it. He wouldn't ask her, he'd work it out. _Then,_ there'd be some payback.

He extended an arm in invitation. "Shall we?"

"My car's that way," she said, not taking the proffered arm and pointing in the opposite direction.

"And mine is this way. If I want to take a beautiful lady with a black eye to dinner, then I'm driving."

She laughed then, and linked her arm with his. "David Rossi, you old chauvinist!"

Rossi grinned. "Less of the old if you don't mind."

* * *

They ended up back at her apartment again that night. She lived close to Mama Rosa's, and Dave had wet pants. A drunken fan had seen to that, pouring the best part of a bottle of wine over him while trying to shake his hand as they were leaving.

Pip was still sniggering about it as she threw a pair of jogging bottoms at him and went to make coffee. Rossi retreated to her bathroom to shed his wet jeans, swapping them for the grey joggers she'd dug out for him. They were too large to be hers, but fit him fairly well. He hung up his jeans over the towel rail. They'd dry quick enough and the red wine wouldn't show too badly against the black denim once they had. At least he'd be able to get a cab without _looking_ like he'd been drenched in Merlot, even if he might smell like it.

Looking around her living room, Rossi catalogued the changes since he'd last been there. The cat figurines on the shelf by the tv were new, undoubtedly from Garcia, who had a similar collection on her desk. There were new pillows and cushions on the sofa that didn't match the décor and the dent in the plaster by the door was new as well. The rug on the floor was different and there was a table lamp missing. Two forgotten shards of it still lingered under the coffee table. On closer examination, the open bottle of scotch on the side table next to him turned out to be a cheap blend, not one she would have bought. He knew her well enough to know what her favoured tipple was. The conclusion was as clear as it was unsettling.

"Damon came by, didn't he?" he asked when Pip returned. She nearly _threw_ the coffee over him instead of handing it to him as she twitched in surprise. That was enough to confirm his deduction.

"I hate profilers," she muttered, throwing herself down on the sofa next to him. "I told you not to mention it again."

"We've already eaten so you can't refuse me now." Rossi laid a gentle hand on her arm. "One more thing, then I promise to avoid the subject forever more." Until he was satisfied Damon wasn't going to hit her again, at least. "Did he hurt you anywhere else? Other than this?" he asked, softly brushing her hair away from the bruises on her face.

"You already know, I know you do. I know you noticed," Pip said, rolling up her sleeves. "Did I mention I hate profilers?" she added.

On each of her arms were matching bruises in the shape of finger marks, encircling both biceps as if someone had grabbed her hard and held her tightly. She was right; he'd known they were there. It didn't make them any easier to see.

"Tell me he's locked up somewhere," Rossi growled, his attempt at calm and supportive over-ridden by his outrage.

Pip rolled her eyes. "So much for not talking about it," she replied, pushing her sleeves back down. Rossi just looked at her, still waiting for an answer. "Yes!" she cried. "Yes, he's locked up, now can we talk about something else?"

They talked into the night and instead of going home, Rossi slept on her sofa. He told himself it was because he looked ridiculous in jogging bottoms when he still had his blazer and shirt on, but deep down he knew it wasn't. His jeans would have dried hours ago. He wanted to make sure she was safe and in his mind, sleeping in her living room between her and the front door, helped with that.


	5. In Heat (S3E17)

_In Heat (S3E17)_

 _ **There is a charm about the forbidden that makes it unspeakably desirable - Mark Twain.**_

Returning to Quantico from New Orleans was bittersweet. It was nice to be back, and they'd solved the case, but the whole thing had left a strangely sour taste in Rossi's mouth. Everything seemed very… _coupley_ lately. Was that even a word? He didn't know, but it felt like it ought to be.

The case had been about sex and sexuality and the UnSub's struggle with it. JJ had finally admitted that she and LaMontagne were an item, as if nobody had known that already. Garcia had darted out the door with Lynch as soon as the team had dumped their bags in the office. Morgan had followed shortly after, also heading out on a date. His third of the week, each with a different woman.

Of course, not everyone had paired off. As soon as Hotch had done the work that needed the Unit Chief's immediate attention upon closing a case, he'd left to spend some much deserved time with Jack. Reid had of course gone home to his books. Emily had practically sprinted out the door when they got back, still having just enough time to change and make an appearance at some dinner her mother was throwing. Ambassador Prentiss had been quite vocal about Emily's required attendance in the call Rossi had overheard while they were still in New Orleans.

It was just that it seemed like they'd all just _vanished_ once they'd landed. Rossi was the last one in the office. Alone. Somehow, that hurt.

He peered through the blinds on his office window. It hadn't been a stressful case, at least, not as harrowing as some. But the need for Pip's company was just as strong as if it had been. He enjoyed their time together and this evening he was craving her presence.

She knew when it was going to be a tough case. She often knew before they did; she was the one that prepped all their notes and files as well as the Master file for the official records. Pip would sit with him in what had become "their" restaurant when he got back, and they'd talk. Or rather, argue. Work was never mentioned, except occasionally in passing. They'd flit from one topic to another and back again, debating and squabbling all evening, laughing and joking as they did so. His time in Mama Rosa's with her would heal any wounds the case had inflicted or re-opened. She knew, and she'd wait. Just for him. Because she knew he'd need a friend.

This time, it hadn't been, and Pip was clearing up to leave. Rossi abruptly felt very selfish and a twist of guilt wound its way into his gut. She figured he didn't need her this evening, and was going home, living her life. This pattern they'd developed, the casual office friendship they had, suddenly seemed very one-sided. He wanted to change that, but was unsure if he _should_. He'd always wanted more, she clearly didn't. He'd accepted that, reluctantly, but would changing their parameters impinge on that unspoken understanding?

She was still at her desk, but wouldn't be for much longer. It was gone seven, the profiling team had left, and she'd already herded her own little band out the door. Pip would tidy the paperwork she'd just done with Hotch, make arrangements for the jet to be turned around just in case they needed it again in a hurry, and then she would go. Everything else could wait until morning - when the Agents who'd scattered so quickly when they returned, arrived back at work to the piles of reports and case files and forms that her team orchestrated.

The Master of that symphony of paper was Pip, and she was an exceptional conductor. Rossi had never worked with her in the field, but he would have liked to have done if her skill with the bureaucratic red tape was anything to go by. She noticed details like a profiler. Or a publisher. He should know, he had long experience with both. Pip could spot a rogue apostrophe from a dozen paces, even if the page was upside down.

It was now or never. If he was going to ask her, then it had to be now.

But he couldn't. Somehow it felt like crossing that invisible line that they'd drawn between them. The line neither of them acknowledged or actually, had ever even agreed to put in place. It was just…there.

"You ok?" Pip asked from the doorway. "You look miles away."

Rossi jumped. He obviously _had_ been miles away, because he hadn't noticed her approach. He turned from the window, heart still pounding with surprise.

"Uh, yeah," he said distractedly. He ran a slightly shaky hand through his hair and stared blankly at her for a moment, trying to get his thoughts back in order before he spoke in case he said something utterly inappropriate.

Pip frowned at him. "Didn't mean to startle you." She folded her arms and shot him a mischievous look. "Not saying I didn't get a kick out of it though. It's not every day someone's able to sneak up on the great David Rossi. You're losing your touch."

"You just like scaring people."

As a comeback, it was lame and he knew it. Especially considering her dig at the skills he was so proud of, but Rossi was still too unsettled to come up with anything better. It was like she'd read his mind. One second he was thinking about her, the next she was creeping up on him in his office. Sometimes, she was so in tune with him it was frightening.

"Well, I'm not going to deny that." Pip put her hands on her hips and cocked her head, eyes narrowed. "You want to go eat?"

It made it easier to agree since she was offering.

"You don't mind?" Rossi hated how stupidly insecure that came out, but he couldn't take it back without sounding like a complete idiot. _More_ of a complete idiot, that was. What was it about her that made him throw his dignity to the wind?

She threw him an odd look. "Well," she drawled, "I _did_ have a hot date with a microwave mac'n'cheese, but I _guess_ I can cancel."

"In that case I'm the one doing _you_ a favour. C'mon, I'm buying." Rossi grabbed his coat and started for the door. When he got within reach, Pip laid a gentle hand on his arm to halt his progress.

"I'm not doing this as a favour, Dave," she said earnestly. Her eyes searched his. "You wanna talk, about _anything_ , I'm there. No hesitation." She patted his chest, leaving her hand there for a fraction of a second. "We're friends, remember?" She left, going back to her desk for her coat and bag.

Rossi just stood there, right where she'd stopped him. He could still feel the warmth of her hand over his heart. Whether that was real or imagined, he couldn't have said.

"Friends," he muttered to himself, even more confused than before. Was that meant as agreement to altering their existing pattern, or a warning, the line being reinforced?

"Hey!" she called from the bullpen. "Crowd's getting restless, I think they need feeding!"

Or was he overthinking it entirely? Rossi sighed and shrugged into his coat as he walked, closing the office door behind him.

"You're a nag, you know that?" he teased as they walked to the elevator together.

"Works though, doesn't it?" Pip smirked at him. "Why fix something that isn't broken? Besides, I think you secretly like it."

* * *

It seemed inevitable that they'd end up back at hers again. It had become part of the pattern. She lived only a few blocks away, and the short walk from Mama Rosa's to her place had become part of their pattern too. As had the coffee to round out the evening. She was a lover of it just like him, and she brought the special blend out when he was there.

"What were you thinking about earlier?" Pip asked. "You were miles away."

Conversation over their coffee had become part of the pattern too. Conversation mostly free of the usual barbs and insults, conversation more intense than they'd permit themselves over dinner. Or any other time for that matter. They'd learnt a lot about each other over coffee on her sofa. Deeply personal things, like the death of Rossi's son James on the day he was born, and the loss of her parents in a drive-by when she was barely ten. How the job had got to him after finding the Galen parents dead in their house in Indiana, and how the suicide of a foster-brother when Pip had been fourteen had led to a dreadful group home that she'd spent the rest of her teenage years in.

"Couples," he said slowly. "Everything recently got very…I don't know…" Rossi waved an expressive hand trying to illustrate what he meant, then laced his fingers to indicate some type of togetherness.

She nodded. "I know what you mean. Like there's something in the air, but only for other people. An UnSub repressing his sexuality, JJ and Will, Penny and Kevin…"

"You knew about those two?" he asked, his curiosity making him cut across whatever else she'd been about to say. "I only found out because I knocked on Garcia's door before I went to Indiana and interrupted a post-coital shower."

Pip laughed. "That must have been quite a sight."

"The other day Lynch tried to have a chat, "man-to-man", about the fraternisation policies," said Rossi with a smirk.

"Oh, I would have _loved_ to have been a fly on the wall for that conversation," chortled Pip. "In fact, I would have paid good money for a front row seat. Kevin's a damp squib and you're…well, you're _you_. He must have been absolutely terrified."

Rossi chuckled. "I got that impression, yes. How did you find out? You never said anything."

Pip shrugged. "Not my business," she said dismissively. "Everyone knew about JJ, but I knew about Penny and Kevin before anyone. People don't always notice AST, Dave, especially now there's one less of us. We're just the grease that makes things turn; you guys are the cogs doing the turning."

He knew the profilers didn't always take much notice of AST unless they needed something or were late with their paperwork, but he hadn't realised just _how_ ignored they were. "Is that how you all feel?" he asked curiously.

Pip jutted her chin. "My team know I appreciate them. I'm their boss. That has to be enough."

The feelings ran deep then, and not just with Pip. "You think what you and Rishi and Collier do isn't appreciated? And Holden, while he was there?" Rossi added. "Trust me it _is_. I know we couldn't do even _half_ the work if we didn't have you all to keep everything in order."

Pip smiled sadly at him. "Yeah, but did you hear what you just said? You said, "I know". _You_ do, I don't doubt that, but I'm not sure the rest do. Penny has an idea and so do JJ and Agent Hotchner, but he and JJ travel with you, and Penny…" She waved her hands expressively. "Don't get me wrong, I love her dearly, but she lives in her lair when you're away. It's _us,_ _my_ team that makes it all work in the end," she said, her voice rising. "We see things, and hear things we shouldn't _all the time_ , because people genuinely don't notice us. Even _Mark's_ got enough gossip to bury a dozen careers if he wanted to, and it's not like he's hard to spot."

Rossi looked at her in shock. Holden was tall, broad shouldered and only had two volume settings: loud and louder. You couldn't miss him if you tried.

"Ask them," she challenged, with a jut of her chin. "Ask the other Agents if they know anything about us other than our names, if they know something personal, not just what we do for them."

"Of course they will!" Rossi scoffed, although he was starting to wonder if she was right. He hadn't known much about AST until he'd made an effort, and he was the only one of the profiling team that had.

"We'll see." Pip put down her coffee and folded her arms. "Now that you've turned the conversation around, I'm turning it back. Couples. Why did that bother you so much?"

"You mean apart from being a bachelor with three failed marriages and a long string of meaningless affairs behind him?" he asked wearily, resigned to the fact that she wasn't going to stop bugging him about it until she had an answer.

"Yeah, apart from that," she said, her tone belligerent.

Rossi was rather aware that they had waded into murky territory. For some reason, talking about relationships felt like it came very close to that invisible line he'd been struggling with earlier.

"There needs to be more?" he asked lightly, trying to steer away.

"There doesn't _need_ to be more," Pip replied, "but there is, I know that look. You might be able to fool the rest of the profilers, but I like to think I know you better than most people."

Pip got to her feet and disappeared into the kitchen. She rummaged around long enough for Rossi to have time to decide that in reality, she probably knew him better than anyone. Pip had _no_ trouble seeing _Dave_ under the asshole exterior the rest of the world saw. Partly because of the time they'd spent together talking about themselves, partly her skill with picking up details. But it was mostly because he let her boss him about – with her, he talked about things that were on his mind simply because she told him to. Rossi smiled to himself. Maybe she was right, and he did secretly like it.

When she returned, she had two plastic tumblers in one hand and a bottle of whisky in the other.

"This obviously calls for the good stuff," she said pouring two generous shots and handing one to him. "Sorry about the tumblers, they're all I've got."

Rossi suspiciously held his tumbler up to examine it. There was an ecstatically happy cartoon cow on the side, frolicking in an unrealistically lurid green field. There were daisies, each with an overstated smile that looked more like a lecherous leer. And as for the cow…the grin on its face looked rather rabid, and the eyes, well, he'd seen saner expressions on serial killers. He looked over at her and raised an eyebrow.

"You're giving it to me in a plastic cup, which appears to have a crazy cow on it," he said doubtfully. How good could it be if this was how it came?

"So what? Mine's got a crazy sheep on it," she replied dismissively as she settled herself into the corner of the sofa, facing him with her back against the arm and legs crossed. "There was one with a crazy pig too, but I melted it in the microwave," she said with a laugh. "Apparently, they're not heat-proof." Pip shrugged. "All the animals look just as drugged up; whoever designed these _must_ have been high on something. Besides, it doesn't matter what it comes in, only the bottle it came out of."

"I'm not so sure about that." Rossi took a mouthful and cheerfully ate his words. She wasn't kidding; it was certainly the good stuff, she'd brought out an well-aged single malt. He relished the taste as it slid down his throat and tipped his tumbler in a gesture that mingled apology with thanks.

Pip nodded in acknowledgement and raised hers in mirrored salute before taking a sip. "Talk to me," she ordered.

Rossi let another large gulp of the scotch burn its way down before replying. "I was...lonely. Everyone just…disappeared when we got back. Everyone had places to go." He swallowed heavily. "People to be with." He took another sip to avoid looking at her after he said that. "I just wanted some company."

"You could have said," replied Pip easily, taking careless slurp from her tumbler before putting it down on the side table. "What difference would that have made? We ended up doing it anyway."

"I didn't want to…I don't know. Overstep? When it's a bad one, I know you're there waiting. This one wasn't, I didn't want to…to intrude, to assume…" he trailed off as Pip started laughing. "Hey! I'm baring my soul here, do you mind?" he said indignantly.

"Oh…oh you dear, sweet, _silly_ man," said Pip, lunging across the sofa to hug him. "We're friends," she said as she released him, leaving one hand resting lightly on his shoulder. "I'd go as far as to say you're my _best_ friend, although don't tell Penny that, she'd kill me." Pip sniggered. "No, scrap that, she wouldn't, but she probably _would_ empty my bank account and donate it all to an animal shelter."

Rossi smiled briefly. That did sound more like something Garcia would do. Homicide just wasn't her style, it was too messy, and she'd undoubtedly find ruining someone's life digitally far more satisfying.

"It doesn't matter if it's been a difficult case and you need a friend," Pip continued, "or a good case and you want to celebrate with a friend, or just because it's a Tuesday and you feel like it, I will _always_ take the time to argue with you over a nice Chianti. That's what we do."

"But…the line…" There, he'd said it. If it hadn't been real before, it certainly was now.

There was no question in Pip's expression; she knew exactly what he meant. The hand on his shoulder tightened as she looked deep into his eyes. "The line is right there," she nodded at the threshold of her bedroom doorway down the hallway, turning him slightly so he could look for himself. "Do you understand?"

Rossi nodded. He did. If he hadn't been sure before, he was now. She had no interest in pursuing anything more than friendship with him.

"Does that look like dinner and red wine to you?" she pressed.

"No." Well, obviously it didn't.

"No." Pip turned him back to face her. "What we do is _not_ the same." She let go of his shoulder and punched him in the arm, none too gently. "Stop it. You spent an hour watching me this evening trying to decide whether to take a friend out for something to eat, just because you felt like doing it. Would you have hesitated if you and Agent Morgan were the last two there this evening?"

Rossi rubbed his arm. She might not have weapons clearance any longer, but she hit like a mule. "It's different."

"Why? Because I've got tits?" Pip made a dismissive noise. "If even _half_ the stories are true, you've seen plenty _those_. Fuck's sake Dave, you've even seen mine!"

"I remember," he said drily.

"Of course you do! They come framed with bullet holes." Pip shrugged easily and retrieved her tumbler to take another gulp of her drink, tipping it up to drain the last of it. "Kinda makes them hard to forget."

That wasn't why he remembered them. "That's not what I…" He stopped as something she'd said earlier made its way through the haze of red wine and whisky. "An hour?"

She rolled her eyes good naturedly. "Yes, _an_ _hour_. How do you think I knew something was up?" she said exasperatedly. "I could see you up there in your office, lurking sadly at the window like the last puppy in the shop. I waited for you to come and talk to me, strung out the work I had for as long as I could, but eventually I had to go to you." She glared at him. "I told you then that I was willing to listen, whatever it was. And you've _still_ spent the entire evening over-thinking and second-guessing yourself, haven't you? Over something I was quite happy to do, regardless." She whacked him again. "So, stop it."

"Ow! Quit hitting me, woman!" Her response was to throw one of the multitude of cushions at his face. "What are you, five?" he asked as he batted it away. Two more cushions sailed towards him and Rossi dived to protect the single malt. "Mind the bottle!" he cried as he tucked it down the side of the table out of the way. Then he retaliated by throwing a cushion back at her.

Within a matter of seconds, they were both standing, laughing like a pair of kids in kindergarten, throwing cushions every which way. Stuffing filled the air as one of them burst, but that just made them laugh harder. The barrage of cushions and pillows reached frenzy as they both grabbed double handfuls and threw them this way and that.

Pip ran out of ammunition a few minutes later and made a break for one on the floor, a product of one of his earlier misses. He tackled her from behind and picked her up as she squirmed, still laughing.

"Gotcha!" he laughed, twirling her around.

Given the direction of their previous conversation, with his hands round her waist and her wriggling against him, the change of mood was inevitable. Silly turned uncomfortably sexy in a matter of seconds. Rossi stopped laughing and set her down on her feet. Pip didn't resist as he turned her in his arms to face him.

" _This_ is why it's different," he said hoarsely, moulding her body against his. She fit perfectly, like she was made, tailored even, specifically for him. "Pip…"

She stopped him with a gentle finger to his lips. "Hush," she said softly, "we've had this discussion." Pip sounded wary. "No regrets in the morning, remember?" The question was rhetorical, they both remembered. "And we would, you and I both know that."

He looked down at her nestled in his arms and ran through a mental recitation of curse words. He knew she was right, that was the most frustrating thing about it. He breathed out through his nose, a long exhale of defeat, and nodded. She dropped her hand and Rossi gave her a lingering kiss on the forehead.

"Goodnight Pip." He barely heard her whispered reply over the pounding of his heart in his ears.

Rossi turned, grabbed his jacket from the arm of the sofa and made his way quickly to the door. He didn't speak, he didn't look back, he didn't even _breathe_ until the door was safely closed between them; a physical barrier to stop him doing something that could forever ruin his friendship with her.

* * *

The exasperated look she threw in the direction of his office was worth the expense. Rossi watched with a broad smile as Pip carefully packed the box containing two cut crystal tumblers into her bag. As with all their previous morning-after-the-night-before thank-you-for-stopping-me-doing-something-stupid gifts, these had a benefit for him too. Drinking whisky from plastic tumblers just wasn't the same, no matter what Pip said.


	6. The Crossing (S3E18)

_The Crossing (S3E18)_

 _ **Whoever said that loss gets easier with time was a liar. Here's what really happens: The spaces between the times you miss them grow longer. Then, when you do remember to miss them again, it's still with a stabbing pain to the heart. And you have guilt. Guilt because it's been too long since you missed them last - Kristin O'Donnell Tubb.**_

Pip breezed into his office without knocking and Rossi growled at her.

She knew it annoyed him, which was why she did it, he was completely convinced of that. But he also knew she tracked the team's movements closely while they were in the office. She would know if he was on a call, or otherwise occupied with something and shouldn't be disturbed. Not that it would have stopped her if he was. Pip was the sort of person who would gleefully barge in and interrupt the Pope, even if His Holiness was busy taking a piss.

It was another of their patterns, like their arguments. He would look up from whatever he was doing in mock anger and snarl, she would snap back with something that made him laugh. That was just how they worked. How they still worked, the night after New Orleans ignored, never mentioned.

So, when Rossi growled and didn't get the reaction he expected, alarm bells started to ring. He looked up to see the cheeky smile she usually wore was absent and that Pip was fidgeting and gnawing her lip, both tells he'd learnt during the time they'd been friends that meant something wrong. This time, the gleeful, teasing spark that usually danced in her eyes was missing too, and that was what worried him the most.

"When you get back, we're going out. My treat." Pip tossed one of the case files she'd been clutching to her chest in his direction. "That's for you. No, don't read it now," she added as he started to open it. "Later. This one however…" She put the other file on his desk. "I know you writer types sell books by the inch, but when you typed up your report, you used the same paragraph three times. Looks like you cut and pasted it all over the place. Don't you read them before you submit them?"

"You _sure_ you're not my publisher?" Rossi asked, while wondering what she meant about "getting back". Getting back from where? They hadn't caught a case as far as he was aware, and Pip would normally pass that sort of news on first, rather than going from zero to frustratingly cryptic in one breath. "You're as much of a tyrant as she is," he added ruefully, "but I will admit I got used to someone else reading my work to pick up stupid mistakes like that."

That was true, but only to a point, he was just trying re-kindle the sense of easy bickering that defined their rather odd friendship. Rossi looked down at the file. He remembered this one, it had been late, he'd been shattered and had just printed it when he'd finished, confident he'd covered everything. Apparently he had, but more than once. He glanced up at Pip, still fidgeting but no longer chewing her lower lip. Whatever was bothering her was being eased somewhat by their good-natured banter, so he was in no hurry to stop.

"Fancy adding that to your job description?" he asked, knowing it would wind her up.

"Not a chance," Pip retorted hotly, "I've got enough to do already. Just because you're famous, doesn't mean you get special treatment." The light in her eyes told a different story. It was dimmer than usual, but it was there. It was a relief to see it return, and Rossi counted this exchange as a win. "Your report, your fault, your problem. Fix it and get it back to me before you leave. Take a warm coat, it's cold in Boston," she added as an afterthought as she left. She nodded to Hotch as she passed him in the doorway.

"What was all that about?" asked Hotch as he watched Pip make her way back to her desk. "I can have a word if she's giving you too much of a hard time. She ought to apologise for speaking to you like that."

Unwilling to explain the details of his peculiar friendship with Pip, Rossi just chuckled and shook his head. "No, she had every right to give me a hard time." He waved the file in Hotch's direction. "She caught a mistake I made, if anything I owe _her_ an apology."

"That's a relief," said Hotch. "I wasn't exactly looking forward to telling her she needed to apologise. She can be kind of intimidating," he added when Rossi raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

Rossi stroked his goatee to hide the smile. Aaron Hotchner, Unit Chief of the BAU, was afraid of a 5'4" brunette that he could probably pick up with one hand.

"I've found the easiest way to deal with her is do exactly what she wants," said Rossi. "Otherwise…" he lowered his voice for dramatic effect, " _…here be dragons._ "

Hotch laughed in agreement and to Rossi's relief, the conversation moved onto other things. He didn't want to lie to Hotch about how close he and Pip really were, but he also wanted to keep their friendship to himself. What they shared was different from the friendships among the rest of the team, close as they were, and it would undoubtedly be misunderstood. Especially given his reputation.

Hotch's news that they were going to a terrorism seminar in Boston failed to completely surprise him after what Pip had said. At least he knew where he was going, but after his conversation with her, it was what awaited him when he got back that was on his mind. Rossi glanced down at the file she'd given him before adding it to his briefcase with his notes for the presentation. He'd read it later. He had a report to correct before he could leave.

* * *

Rossi surreptitiously read the file she'd thrown at him on the way to Boston, and then rather wished he hadn't. It was a partial investigation file of the botched op that led to Pip's shooting, made up of selected reports, newspaper cuttings and field notes from a multitude of people. Pip had basically made him an unofficial summary file of what had happened, and it had been a catalogue of errors.

She had been part of a joint taskforce with ATF working out of Chicago. Pip was a language specialist, part of a team set up to cripple the lively black-market gun trade among the gangs based there. Bad intel, rumours of a leak, and what Rossi considered a couple of real bonehead moves on the part of her boss to keep his extra-marital affair secret were only the _start_ of a sequence of events that had led to disaster.

Four years ago, almost to the day, Pip had been part of an eight-strong field team sent to check out a disused storage site, an old warehouse in the middle of the run-down residential area of Riverdale. Some of the smaller victories they'd achieved pointed to a sophisticated network of old buildings with hidden storage areas to hide the weapons as they moved around the city - gaps between walls, underground rooms that weren't on the plans, one cache had been found suspended in the chimney of a vacant property. They were looking for more information about the types of places the gun-runners used, and far as anyone knew, the Riverdale site had once been used to store handguns, but had been long since been abandoned.

Except it hadn't been abandoned and it hadn't been used for handguns.

The team had been ambushed as they climbed from their cars, and automatic weapons fire had killed seven people before the situation was contained. Three ATF agents, a civilian bystander and her son, and two FBI agents had died almost instantly. In addition to the deaths, there were dozens of injured civilians and three seriously injured Federal Agents, one of whom had been Pip. CFD had pulled out all the stops, but one of the three wounded agents, ATF Agent Ian Collingwood, had died en route to Chicago Med. He succumbed to wounds sustained taking the last gunman down, preventing any more casualties. The man was a hero in Rossi's opinion, and his death brought the final toll to eight, not counting the shooters.

Rossi already knew Pip had spent eight months recovering, having been told she'd suffered nerve damage and couldn't work in the field again. Despite that, she'd been lucky – Pip had added a redacted summary medical report of the only other surviving agent. He'd lived, but would never walk again, the hail of bullets transecting his spine and leaving him paralysed. They were the only two left of the team that had arrived at that warehouse, unprepared, unprotected and with no idea what they were walking into.

It wasn't until he'd leafed through the entire file that Rossi realised he remembered the incident. It had been national news, the death of the young boy prompting Chicago's largest gun amnesty drive in living memory. Knowing Pip had been part of that was shocking.

He couldn't talk to her until he was in the privacy of his hotel room that evening, and Rossi knew he hadn't been subtle in avoiding Hotch's company in order to call her. It wasn't every day he turned down free scotch, and he knew Aaron would have some questions about that. But the need to speak to Pip after reading the file was overwhelming, and she'd been on his mind all day.

As if she'd been expecting him, the phone was picked up on the first ring.

"You forgot your coat," Pip said stridently. "Dopey bastard, it's still on the hook in your office. Have you _any_ idea how fucking long I've been waiting by the phone to tell you off about that?"

Rossi grinned. "You talk to Hotch with that mouth? How'd you know it was me?"

"Caller ID is a _wonderful_ thing," she replied smartly. "I told you to take a coat."

"Bossy woman," he replied fondly. "I have a perfectly good jacket with me, and I didn't need protecting from the elements for the short walk between my room and the seminar. It's in the same hotel."

"I know that, you've forgotten who organised your hotel and flight haven't you?"

He had, and hung his head, even though she couldn't see him. "Yeah. Sorry. I had some reading material that distracted me." He paused, and when there was no reply, he pressed on, gently. "Pip, why didn't you just tell me?"

"And say what? I can see it now," she said sarcastically. "Hi Dave, the anniversary of the death of everything I ever worked for is coming up, can I buy you dinner, because I can't bear to spend it alone?" She snorted. "Yeah, I don't think so."

Under the harshness of her voice, Rossi could hear the undertones of what she was saying. This date, this anniversary, would be the first time _she'd_ initiated one of their evenings. Regardless of the occasion, she was just as wary as he of going too far. Of saying the wrong thing. Of ruining what they had by skating too close to that impossible line.

And that was without all the other baggage that came from being shot. Rossi at least knew what that felt like. She'd lost all but one of her team mates and her field agent status all in one afternoon, it couldn't be easy. Rossi sighed.

"Do I need to throw something at you?" he asked, trying to sound snippy. "You punched me when I did this. Twice actually, but I don't hold with hitting women. I will however, happily smother you in cushions if it'll help."

"You can try, but I'm fairly sure I was winning until you cheated last time," retorted Pip.

That was the closest they'd come to speaking aloud of what had nearly transpired between them. Again. Rossi blew off her comment with a chuckle, keen not to discuss _that_ while he had a file open on his knee with images of the aftermath in Chicago, with bullets and blood all over the place.

"So you settled for throwing the file at me so you wouldn't have to tell me all the details."

"Something like that," Pip agreed. "More efficient all round. Better than your idea of standing in your office for an hour, waiting for me to offer to let you take me out."

Rossi wanted to say that it also meant she was avoiding talking about it, but he didn't. She knew as well as he did what she was doing. Not to mention that pointing it out would likely only earn him a profanity-ridden tirade. He smiled briefly. It might be worth it. Pip could get quite creative when properly worked up; he'd actually learned a few new phrases last time she'd _really_ gone off at him.

He glanced down at the file and closed it, unwilling to see those pictures anymore. Perhaps it wasn't the best day to provoke her. Rossi changed the subject, knowing that was what she wanted.

"I'm going to be here another day. Some local ADA wants a consult as a favour, seeing as we're here. She wants us to prove a husband killer _isn't_ suffering from Battered Woman syndrome."

"So you _are_ going to need a warm coat," Pip said smugly, with a trace of relief at the switch in topic. "Can I just say, I told you so?"

"Nobody likes a smartass," he teased, glad she was back to being insulting.

"Except you, apparently. Glutton for punishment, huh?"

"So it would seem," he agreed. If spending time with her was a punishment, he'd happily take it.

"Proving a negative's always a tough one," mused Pip.

"I know, but I kind of hope we manage it." Rossi frowned. "Alexander's out for this woman's blood, there's just something about her that rubbed me the wrong way." Alexander's ruthless attitude had chilled him and her assumption that their assessment would aid her case had felt _off_ somehow.

"Alexander?" she asked slowly. "As in _Eve_ Alexander?"

Rossi's brows furrowed. "You know her?" he asked, surprised.

"Dave, I know pretty much everyone in every State's Attorney office across the country," sighed Pip with some exasperation, "as well as most of the rising stars in DA offices in all the major cities. It's my _job_ to know."

"And?" He could hear there was some more to this story.

"And we've crossed paths," said Pip darkly. "I think she's a complete bitch, and I'm pretty sure the feeling is _entirely_ mutual. She delights in prosecuting women as hard as she can to make some sort of fucking weird point about gender equality. Bullshit if you ask me, but there you are."

"I'll take that under advisement," he said, relieved in some small way that it wasn't just him that got funny vibes from Alexander. He glanced at his watch. "You headed home soon? Tell me you weren't _really_ hanging by the phone waiting for me to call?"

"Don't flatter yourself." Pip laughed, a muted chuckle. "No, seriously, the rest of the team have picked up a stalker case in Silver Springs, I'm here for the foreseeable."

"Ok. I should be back tomorrow…" he started. Tomorrow's date was the same as the one on the file next to him.

"I'll be here," she interrupted before he could finish. "Goodnight Dave."

"Goodnight Pip," replied Rossi, but he was talking to empty air, Pip having already hung up to avoid further conversation.

* * *

Pip wasn't at her desk when he got back to the office, but her coat was still on the hook in the corner and there was a pile of files still on her chair. She hadn't left without him.

She was lurking in his office instead, keeping out of sight of the rest of the team. Her smile was too bright, the chatter too chirpy to be genuine, especially given the redness of her eyes.

They navigated their way out of the Bureau and drove to the restaurant on a flow of harmless gossip and gentle teasing. Rossi played along; right up until the customary toast over their starters caused a tear to make its way down her cheek.

"Pip?" He put his wine glass down in a hurry and shifted his chair round the tiny table so he was next to her, rather than peering over the centrepiece at her. She refused to look at him, furiously dabbing her eyes with a napkin. "Pip, talk to me."

Pip shook her head. "No," she said shortly. "Not here, not now." She sniffed deeply and nudged him with her elbow. "If you don't move, I'm going to assume your starter is undefended."

Rossi hesitated and Pip reached over the table and stole a forkful of his bruschetta. She looked at him smugly as she chewed. The effect was ruined a bit by the glassiness in her eyes, but he made no comment. Rossi moved his chair back to face his own food, somewhat reduced after her pilfering.

Dinner followed a more expected rhythm after that, but although she smiled and laughed with him as they argued, Rossi could tell Pip's heart wasn't really in it. This evening was more about the conversation they both knew was coming once they got back to her place.

With that in mind, he begged off dessert, pretending he didn't see the flash of relief on her face at the prospect of leaving earlier than usual.

* * *

Rossi tried to get her to let him make the coffee, but she pushed him back down into the sofa.

"Dave, I'm perfectly capable of making coffee in my own kitchen. Yeesh, anyone would think I'm some fragile flower about to break." She rolled her eyes at him and went to start the coffee.

Uncomfortable with admitting that he thought she was going to do exactly that, Rossi settled on the sofa listening to the sounds of her moving about in the kitchen. He caught sight of the tumblers he'd bought her, along with the bottle of single malt, now sat in pride of place on her shelf by the TV. He stood up to retrieve all three. If ever there was going to be a night when whisky was required, it was this one. He couldn't deny the slightly warm feeling he got from her obvious pleasure and enjoyment of what he had bought her. The tumblers now occupied the space Garcia's prized cat figurines had once been in, said ornaments now relegated to one of the many bookshelves. He was just sitting down again as Pip returned.

"Mind reader," she commented, nodding at the bottle in his hands. She sat down, poured herself a large shot and threw it back before taking a more measured mouthful of her coffee. "Ah, that's better."

Rossi just looked at her, concerned. "That's a horrible way to treat good alcohol. Did you even taste that?"

She shrugged in reply. "I do it every year. They say madness is repeating the same action over and over, expecting a different outcome. Every year on this date, I drink. I get blackout drunk and pass out somewhere in the hope that it will make getting through it easier." She poured herself another huge shot and threw that back too. "It doesn't work, and yet I still do it," she said bitterly, "therefore, I must be mad." Bottle and glass followed the same path once more as another large measure went down.

Rossi laid a hand on her arm when she moved to pour herself a fourth. "Slow down, Pip. Or at the very least, give me a chance to catch up."

"Do you know what I lost that day?" she asked, shaking off his hand and pouring herself another, this bigger than the last two put together. Rossi raised an eyebrow and held his hand out for the bottle. "Fine," she said, thrusting it at him.

Their coffee sat ignored on the table and Rossi realised that on some level, he should have expected that. He poured himself a sensible amount of scotch and cradled it in his hand, just looking at her. Having surrendered the bottle, Pip assumed her usual position, back to the arm of the sofa. This evening she had her knees drawn up to her chest with one arm wrapped round her shins. It was a defensive pose, and she looked a little bit like a fortress all curled up in the corner.

"That wasn't rhetorical," she said, returning his scrutiny with a flat stare.

Rossi frowned. "You want _me_ to tell you what _you_ lost?" He wondered if that was some form of denial.

"I want to know how much of it you don't know or haven't worked out; I'm not talking about this more than I have to."

Not denial then. Self-preservation.

"Obviously I know what's in the file since you threw it at me. I still owe you for that by the way," he said, hoping for a smile. He was disappointed. "You know, there's an unspoken moratorium on profiling fellow BAU colleagues."

She laughed briefly, a little resentfully. "Not profiling the profilers. Yeah, but my little crew aren't counted in that and you know it." She lifted her chin defiantly. "Did you ever ask the others if they knew anything about us?"

His heart sank. She was deflecting him, and he'd rather hoped she'd forgotten about that particular conversation. Rossi took a deep swallow from his tumbler to stall, knowing she'd pick up on his hesitation but unable to avoid it.

"You _did_ , didn't you?" Pip uncurled and shuffled closer to him, close enough for a waft of her perfume to tease his senses and her hair to brush his arm. "Do tell," she said eagerly.

"There's not much to tell," Rossi said. "You might as well get your gloating out of the way," he added, resigned to telling her exactly what she already knew. "Hotch is your boss, he knew a bit about you, but little about the others. The rest of them, well…" He took another sip of his drink. Pip just kept looking at him. "No, they didn't," he finally admitted. "Morgan thought Holden was seeing the blonde girl in White Collar before he transferred."

Her laughter was more genuine this time and that eased the heavy atmosphere a little. Pip lounged back on the sofa next to him, her posture more open now, feet resting carelessly on the coffee table.

"Blondes aren't his thing, regardless of the equipment," she said with a small smile. "However, I do happen to know that she has a tall, dark, handsome brother who's in the Air Force."

Rossi chuckled. "From what I've seen, that certainly sounds more like his type. When do you get a replacement for Holden anyway? It's been months."

Pip shot him a slightly condescending look. "AST is specialised, even within the Bureau Administration. You can't just rotate in. There's a certain…skill set required, and sometimes that takes time to find. And we all have different specialities in addition to that. Mark was my logistics expert. Amber is finance, Margaret, legal. I'm weapons and languages as well as being the team leader, coordinating everything and being the major link with the rest of the Bureau."

"I didn't realise," Rossi admitted. AST were low down on everyone's priority list, and he was just as guilty of that, because he genuinely _hadn't_ realised. Looking at it, it was obvious, in the same way the profiling team each had their own unique talent as well as their basic profiling skill. Emily had her ice-cool head and was able to be utterly dispassionate in the face of gruesome details that upset the rest of them, Reid had his knowledge of geographic profiling, amongst a million other things. Morgan could call on an ability to _think_ like an UnSub to predict their movements, Hotch gave them his background in law. More recently, Rossi had added his own hostage negotiation experience to the mix. Each of them brought something to the table that the others didn't have, so it was only logical that their admin support was the same.

Pip hummed noncommittally and grabbed the bottle from him. "If you're just going to sit there with it, I'm claiming it," she said, draining her glass once more and starting to pour another.

Rossi took it back before she'd poured too much. "That's enough," he said firmly. "Consider it in Protective Custody for the time being." He looked at her, resigned to doing what she'd asked. "At least until I've actually had a chance to have some." He'd need it. With that in mind, when he refilled his drink, he made it a generous one. He kept hold of the bottle.

Rossi took a deep breath. "Here goes. I warned you, remember that before you hit me again." He looked sideways at her, now rolling her tumbler between her hands. "I think you lost something personal, more than just colleagues and your field agent status," he said slowly. "Something deeper." He waited for a reaction, but got nothing. That was confirmation in itself. "I don't think it was to do with the op, or the lack of arrests." He paused again, looking to see how his words had affected her. He was close, he could see that much on her face, but he hadn't won the cigar yet.

"It's more about the shooting itself," Rossi continued. "The injuries themselves, I think. I know you said it meant you couldn't work in the field again, although I don't fully understand why. From the brief glimpse I had, I thought you'd healed remarkably well."

Pip looked down at his hand resting on the sofa between them and reached over. She started drawing little circles on the back of his hand with her fingertips. It was an innocent enough gesture that nevertheless woke every nerve in Rossi's body.

"Can you feel that?" she asked.

Could he _ever_. Each circle was sending shivers up his spine. Rossi nodded, not willing to trust his vocal chords.

"I can't," Pip said. "It's weird, I hardly even notice anymore. Except this time of year." She stopped stroking his hand and rubbed her fingers together. "The nerve damage I mentioned? The tips of my fingers on my right hand are numb. Have been ever since I woke up in the hospital. They said it would fade, that the feeling would come back, but it never did."

Pip brought her hand up to eye level, examining her fingertips, looking for something. "They warned me I'd be forever burning or cutting myself by accident, you know, because I can't feel it. But I don't." She shot him a lopsided grin. "Did manage to staple myself to a notice board once though." She leaned over, showing him two whorls of scar tissue. "See?"

"What?" spluttered Rossi. "How?"

"I was putting up the Health & Safety poster. You know, the ones that come on thick plastic and you need those big fuck-off industrial staples to hang them anywhere?" Rossi nodded. "Well, there I was stapling it to the notice board, next thing I know, I've stapled myself to the bloody poster. How's that for irony?" She snorted. "Hurt like a bitch."

"But, I thought you said…"

Pip shook her head. "Wasn't that. I damn near dislocated my elbow trying to reach the pliers to pull the fucking staple out."

Rossi laughed briefly, but his amusement was quickly dashed with cold water as he caught the look on her face. "You're deflecting me again," he said softly. "That's twice now."

She looked away from him, expression haunted. "I couldn't pass my firearms recertification because I can't feel the trigger properly. I'm fine in a nice controlled environment like the range, provided I'm careful and shooting in a straight line. No problem, even now. But in a tactical situation?" She shook her head. "I'd be liable to shoot myself in the foot or kill the person behind me. And I never could use a handgun with my left. I'd be more use if I _threw_ my service weapon at someone rather than shooting left-handed. So I surrendered it and took a desk assignment."

"But you stayed in the Bureau," disputed Rossi. "Most people would have taken medical retirement, gone and…"

"Written a book?" Pip deadpanned. The humour faded as quickly as it had arrived. "I lost everything that day, all over again." She shrugged. "Bureau was all I had left. By the time I came out the other side, I'd realised that actually, I was fucking _good_ at my new job. Maybe better than I'd been at the old one."

 _All over again._ That would get added to the growing pile of information about Pip labelled "to be examined at a later date".

"What happened, Pip? The other side of what? None of this is in the file you gave me." Of course she knew that, but Rossi could see she needed prompting. For someone who openly enjoyed ordering him into discussing things he was uncomfortable with, sometimes she needed a verbal shove to get her talking. She'd started this, given him the file. She _wanted_ to tell him. "Tell me."

"I showed you. You saw them." It took a moment for Rossi to work out what she meant. He nodded. He remembered the scars. And the beautiful pair of breasts that had come with the view.

"Did you _really_ see?" she asked.

He'd seen them, but that wasn't what she meant, that much was clear. Rossi frowned and shook his head. "I'm not sure what you mean."

She huffed and lay back on the sofa a little more, lifting the hem of her shirt with her free hand. She traced the wounds with a finger, pointing at each in turn, starting with the one low down on her left hip and slowly working her way up.

"This one was through and through. Very little internal damage, apart from taking a chunk off my hipbone. I walked with a limp for nearly a year and it still aches sometimes when it's cold. This one went straight through as well, took out one of my ovaries and nicked a kidney on the way. This one turned into a hail of splinters that shredded everything in their path. I lost my womb, spleen, and part of my liver." She pulled her shirt up higher, just to the level of her bra. "This one pierced a lung and was the one that should have killed me outright, never mind the internal haemorrhaging lower down. I nearly drowned in my own blood." She pulled her shirt down and undid the top two buttons to expose her shoulder. "This one broke my collarbone and stole my field career."

She turned to look at him and finally, there were tears in her eyes. Rossi never thought he'd be so pleased to see her upset. She'd compartmentalised the entire event so well that she could have been discussing the weather, and the clinical, detached way she'd talked about it had really disturbed him.

"I lost almost my entire team that day. We were like you guys, so close we were more like family. Some of us had worked together for years. My best friend, Steve, was the first to fall, I don't think he even had time to draw his weapon. Then my boss, Ade. I got hit killing one of the bastards, and I don't remember much after that." She paused to try and wipe away the tears that were falling like rain down her face. "I woke up in hospital to the news that my friends were gone, that I'd lost a baby I never knew existed and that its father had died en route to the ER. My entire life completely ruined, all in about ninety seconds of gunfire." She downed her drink and yanked the bottle out of Rossi's unresisting hand to pour another large one. "Happy birthday to me," she said bitterly, draining her glass again.

Then she buried her face in her hands and sobbed.

Stunned, it took Rossi a moment to gather his wits before he pulled her into a hug. "Oh Pip, I'm so sorry."

There wasn't much else he could say. He held her as she cried, mourned for what she'd lost. He rubbed her back and kept up a litany of nonsense words of comfort until grief and alcohol finally wore her out, and she was asleep against him. He picked her up and carried her to her bed, noting she'd set out the familiar grey joggers and a blanket, as if she'd expected him to stay over. He'd planned to anyway after hearing her story, but it certainly wasn't part of their pattern. She'd known the evening would end the way it had.

He changed into the joggers once he'd got her settled in bed. The coffee went down the sink. It was a shame, he could do with a jolt of caffeine after what he'd heard, but the coffee was long cold. He'd nuke cold coffee in the office, but not an expensive blend. It felt a bit sacrilegious somehow. He washed up the whisky tumblers and the coffee mugs, along with anything else he could see, tidying up what little mess she'd left in the kitchen before going to work.

It wasn't until Rossi sat back down on her comfortable sofa that he really had time to try and process everything she'd told him. It was a lot to take in all at once. To lose all that, _in one day_ , and on her birthday no less. There was no way to escape the yearly reminders. It was a miracle she'd even survived, let alone pass her mandatory evaluations to return to work. And there was something else too, something she hadn't touched on except in passing. "All over again" didn't refer to the loss of her parents as a child, or the loss of a foster-brother as a teenager, he was sure of that. Rossi had no idea what that meant. He could only hope she'd tell him when she was ready.

He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. She'd obviously been involved with a fellow agent, ATF Agent Collingwood by the sound of it. One of the taskforce, part of the team that had been ambushed. Her refusal of his own advances, before they'd agreed they wouldn't spoil their friendship like that, hadn't only been about adherence to the fraternisation policies. Ironically, quite a few of those were the result of his extensive dalliances in the early days of his career. She'd been on intimate terms with a co-worker before, and it had ended in the worst possible way. He couldn't blame her for keeping him at arm's length.

* * *

It wasn't until he opened his eyes that Rossi realised he'd fallen asleep sitting more or less upright on her sofa. He was on his feet in an instant, neck twanging in protest of the sudden movement as he darted towards her bedroom. He'd anticipated this, it was why he had planned to stay the night. He hadn't planned on falling asleep - he'd been sitting up with the intention of being awake when she needed him.

Pip's expression was tortured as she thrashed in her sleep, murmuring names and garbled warnings. Rossi captured her shoulders and pulled her to him, wishing he could do more to ease her pain.

"Pip! It's ok! Pip, wake up! It's ok, it's just a dream. I'm here. It's ok."

Pip awoke with a gasp and grabbed him hard enough to leave bruises by morning. "Ian!" she cried, her chest was heaving as if she'd been running. Her eyes focussed on him, confusion and disorientation clear. "Dave?" Pip let out a shaky breath and slowly eased her death grip on him.

"You were dreaming," he said gently.

She let go of his arms only to pull him closer, burying her face in his chest. Rossi wrapped his arms around her, perched awkwardly on the edge of the bed.

"Sorry," she said eventually, somewhat muffled by his shirt.

"No, don't be," he said softly, wondering if Damon had previously made her apologise for things she couldn't help, or if that particular character trait stemmed from earlier in her life. "I expected it actually. How often?"

"Often enough. More this time of year," she mumbled.

Pip was already drifting back into sleep, the adrenaline surge of the nightmare fading and leaving exhaustion in its wake. It was a cycle he was all too familiar with, although the Galen kids traumatised screams woke him less often now he'd resolved that particular mystery. Rossi lay her back down on the pillows and rearranged the tangled covers around her. He stood to leave and brushed her hair from her face, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze as he did so. It wasn't fair that one person had to bear so much, but if he could help, he would. Even if it meant occasionally sleeping awkwardly on her sofa.

Her hand reached up to grasp his. "Stay," Pip murmured sleepily.

Reflexively, Rossi glanced behind him at her bedroom doorway, and the threshold that represented the limits of their friendship. The line. Dashing into her room to wake her up from a nightmare was one thing, but sharing a bed, even innocently like she meant it, was far more… _intimate_ than she'd allowed him. He hesitated, and Pip opened an eye to peer at him.

"Can hear you thinkin'. 'S still there. Jus' hold me."

Pip could read him like a book; she knew why he'd hesitated. Rossi marvelled to himself. Had he ever known a woman who knew him so well? None of his ex-wives or girlfriends would have been able to pick up his thoughts while half asleep, after suffering a nightmare on top of the best part of a bottle of whisky.

"Dave, _please_."

He couldn't deny her when she sounded so uncharacteristically vulnerable, no matter how much of a bad idea it seemed. "Sure. Whatever you need."

He climbed in the other side of the bed and settled in beside her, one arm wrapped round her waist over the covers. Pip nestled her head back so it was resting against his shoulder and hummed her approval as he tightened his grip. Rossi lay there awhile, just feeling the steady rise and fall of her breathing as she slept, enjoying how comfortable it felt to be next to her like this.

The following afternoon, he found a box of rather fine cigars on his desk.


	7. Lo Fi-Mayhem (S3E20-S4E1)

_Lo Fi/Mayhem (S3E20/S4E1)_

 _ **Because what's worse than knowing you want something, besides knowing you can never have it? - James Patterson**_

New York was bad. They all knew it was bad from what they'd seen on tv before they'd even been given the case, and it just went rapidly downhill from there. Rossi remembered Son of Sam and the fear it had inspired, and there was a disturbing sense of similarity in the tension that filled the air. He usually liked New York, he'd been there several times as part of one book tour or another, but the city was under a cloud of doom, making everyone nervous and moody.

If things hadn't been bad enough already, with multiple UnSubs shooting people and leaving tarot cards at the scene, the emerging theory was that first responders were the real targets. A thoroughly chilling prospect, especially when the news reported a SUV in Federal Plaza had exploded. Rossi didn't immediately know what to do. _Hotch_. That body flying through the air had been his friend, and there wasn't a single thing anyone could do to help him.

When Garcia reported shortly after that the cell service had overloaded, despite the agonising worry for Hotch, the first person on Rossi's mind in that moment was Pip. She'd have seen the explosion on TV in the bullpen. There were procedures and protocols she had to follow, but before she even thought about doing her job, she would try and call him to make sure he was ok. To make sure he wasn't the one laying in the road unmoving. The news coverage had no idea who the agent down was, and when she couldn't get hold of him, she'd panic.

By the time he had both service and more than a few seconds to spare, it was all over and Rossi had nine missed calls and four voicemails from Pip. He played the voicemails one after the other, stood in the conference room they'd been using in the New York field office as people tidied up. The first message made him chuckle aloud, much to the confusion of those around him. He couldn't help it, there was always something funny about the way she swore. It was as if she'd had elocution lessons at some point in her childhood and only remembered them when she was cursing up a furious blue streak.

"Answer the fucking phone, fuckwit. _Five times_ I've rung you. If the last time I hear your dulcet tones is that stupid fucking voicemail greeting, I'm going to come to New York myself to fucking deal with you. I don't care what condition you're in, trust me when I say that being dead will _not_ save you from my wrath."

The second also raised a smile, although he could hear the worry in her voice this time.

"David Stephen Rossi, if that was you lying in that fucking road, you and I are going to have words. Don't you dare die, you owe me dinner for scaring me shitless."

The third was more like others the team had received from family and friends.

"Dave, you're starting to really frighten me. Call me."

The last was the one that hit him the hardest. Pip hadn't actually been talking to his voicemail as such; it had just recorded what she'd been muttering as the call was put through.

"…pick up, pick up, _please_ pick up. Fuck!" Then there was a grunt of effort and a metallic crunch before the message ended.

When he called her cell, it went to voicemail. Rossi rang her office phone instead.

"Oh finally!" Pip cried. "This time I really _was_ waiting by the phone waiting for you to call."

"I'm fine," he reassured her.

"I know, I get do get updates from other people too," she spat. "Eventually. You know, I filed the flight plan an hour ago and noticed you weren't on it. You do realise with Penny travelling with you lot, my gossip lines are severely fucking restricted, don't you?" asked Pip furiously. "I had to find out from Andrew in the _New York field office_ that you're using one of their cars to drive Agent Hotchner home. You left me hanging for _hours_ , like Toby fucking Henessey when he stood me up on my fucking prom night."

Rossi could hear her choking back her relief, the emotion thick in her voice, despite the customary insults and profanity. There was no point apologising, Pip knew how things worked, and it would probably only make her angrier. Flattery seemed like the better option.

"I can't understand why anyone would have stood up someone as gorgeous as you."

That instantly caught Garcia's attention and Rossi cursed himself for not waiting until he had some privacy to return Pip's calls. With Will flying to New York to announce that JJ was pregnant and that they were engaged, Garcia had romance on the brain. Her eyes widened and she grinned at him.

"Can it, Dave. You scared me," replied Pip shortly. "Ass kissing will get you jack shit with me today. I've met some pricks in my time but you, sir, are a fucking _cactus_."

"Do you feel better now?" he asked glibly. The insults she threw at him failed to wound; they had ever since that night in Frazer's.

"No. Not until you're home." The complete lack of verbal abuse told him more than trying to analyse the vitriol she'd given him previously. "And you've got to change your voicemail greeting, I _hate_ it."

Rossi chuckled. "I got that impression, yes. Speaking of voicemail, why did I get yours?" he asked, although he had a fair idea.

"My cell met with an unfortunate accident. _Someone_ pissed me off." Rossi rolled his eyes and smirked in amusement, which caught Garcia's attention again. She gave him a quizzical look and waved her hands in a gesture that could be interpreted as anything from "pass to the quarterback" to "three leeks and a pound of carrots". Combined with the knowing grin on her face, Rossi translated it as "who are you talking to?" and shook his head. He turned away, facing the now-blank evidence board in a futile attempt to regain some privacy.

"Is it fixable?" he asked.

Pip sighed wearily. "The phone or the wall?"

Rossi winced. "Forget I asked." He glanced behind him and realised he still had an audience, Garcia having given up any pretence of not listening. "I've got to go. We'll be back this evening, see you then."

"I'll be waiting," was all she said before hanging up.

"David Rossi, have you got a _date_ when you get back later?" Garcia looked indecently excited by the idea. She hadn't even waited for him to put his cell back in his pocket before pouncing on him.

For a split second, Rossi considered telling her the truth. Thankfully, rational thought returned quickly. Any hope of keeping it a secret would be impossible for Garcia at the moment. Garcia and Pip were good friends, but it was obvious Pip hadn't told her friend how close she was to him. So eager to spread happy news after Will's announcement, Garcia would shout it from the rooftops if he told her. The team had no idea about his relationship with Pip and Rossi wanted to keep it that way. His friendship with Pip was special, and he wanted to keep it separate from his team mates.

"Ah, no," he said with a self-deprecating smile. "Just dinner with a friend, that's all." His stomach turned over in protest at his dismissal of their friendship. Pip was so much more than _just a friend_ , and their time together on those nights was so much more than _just dinner_.

"A friend you called gorgeous," grinned Garcia knowingly, unwilling to let go of the idea of him on a date.

Rossi tensed, he'd have to tread carefully here. If it had been anyone other than Garcia, they would have already worked out he was being less than truthful. "Penelope, I tell you everyday you're beautiful, does that mean we're dating?" he asked, his tone playful and casually flirty, despite the tightness of his body.

Garcia giggled. "Oh, hush you; I don't want my man of sculpted chocolate getting jealous. Even if I am still mad at him."

But she was smiling, and the inquisitive "I'm going to find everything out about you anyway, so you may as well tell me" look she'd been wearing faded. Rossi relaxed.

* * *

Dinner was…different that night. At first Rossi couldn't put his finger on it, but as the evening went on, he slowly became aware that it was Pip who was different. He was the tactile one of the pair of them, moving through life with a gentle touch here, a casual hug there. He did it with everyone. Pip wasn't like that. She wasn't as bad as Reid, but there were similarities. She'd take comfort from him, occasionally link her arm with his and he'd once seen her carry her drunken friends to bed. Yet despite that, she didn't often instigate contact, even with people she was close to. Even him. It was what made her hugs so special – the fact that she initiated it meant far more than the action itself.

That evening, she'd taken the seat next to him at dinner, rather than the one opposite that meant she could sit with a wall at her back like she preferred. Her knee pressed against his, and every now and then, she would reach over and touch him as if to make sure he was actually there. It was incredibly distracting, and Rossi decided that was why he'd been so slow on the uptake, although the eight hour drive back from New York probably had something to do with it too. Hotch hadn't exactly been the most talkative road-trip companion and eight hours had felt more like twenty-eight.

The check had been and gone, but there was a little left in the wine bottle. Rossi reached for it at the same time she did, and her hand covered his as he grasped the smooth green glass. Instead of letting go, Pip gripped his wrist briefly and trailed her fingers up his arm.

"Pip, what…"

"Ssh." She put a gentle finger to his lips and then let her hand cup his cheek. "Let's go home."

The heat in her eyes matched that coiling low down in his body.

"The rules…" he murmured, meaning both hers and the Bureau's, although her attentions this evening had already been enough for him to decide Bureau could _stick_ their rules. He'd had a hell of a week and he wanted her. He'd always wanted her, and tonight she wanted him.

"Fuck the rules," whispered Pip stridently. "After what just happened…I need…we _both_ need just to feel _alive_." She squeezed his thigh under the table. "Just this once."

Rossi threw a careless handful of small bills down on the table as a tip and took her hand. "Let's go."

* * *

The walk home passed in the blink of an eye. For Rossi, it felt like one moment they'd been sat next to each other, the next, they fell against her closed door together. He pressed her back against the door, his thigh between her legs and his hands round her waist.

"Are you sure about this?" he asked. He was keen, no doubt about that. He was so damn keen it was starting to _hurt_ , and if he didn't do something about that soon, he was going to bust out of his fly. But he was suddenly wondering if it was a good idea. They'd both agreed that sex was off the menu, that it was not the way they wanted to things to go.

"Shut up and kiss me, Dave," Pip breathed.

"Bossy woman," he whispered with a smile, as he obediently leant down to capture her lips with his. His hands ran up her sides and cupped her breasts through her shirt. Pip moaned and Rossi deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth with his tongue. Her hands crept up to the back of his neck, running through his hair and pulling him down against her even harder.

"I've wanted to do that all evening," Rossi admitted as he reluctantly came up for air. He started pressing a trail of little feathery kisses along her jaw and down the line of her neck. "But if I don't stop now…" He circled the base of her throat and started working his way back up the other side. "…I won't be able to," he said, in a final last-ditch effort to think with the brain in his head rather than the overeager one in his pants.

The one in his head was shouting about the rules, about how there was no going back, that it would irrevocably change their friendship. That Pip seemed to have an unhealthy habit of using sex to avoid dealing with trauma. The one in his pants was stridently pointing out that none of that actually mattered. That it had been quite a while since it had done any _proper_ work, because DIY didn't count, and even longer since that work had involved a woman he'd wanted quite so badly.

"Good," Pip purred in his ear, and any hope of rational thought went on holiday as all his remaining blood rushed south, generating an overwhelming throb of impatience. With all the permission he needed, Rossi pulled her shirt off over her head without bothering to undo it and threw it haphazardly behind him. He walked her backwards to the bedroom, kissing and nibbling on all the newly exposed skin he could reach. He found a particularly sensitive spot just at the junction of her neck and shoulder and filed her sensual moan away for later. She was just as eager, by the time he kicked the bedroom door shut behind them, she had already divested him of his shirt and started work on his belt buckle.

He wanted to take his time, but the build-up had been so long that was impossible. Their remaining clothes flew in all directions as they frantically undressed each other, delighting in the skin on skin contact. They fell onto the bed together, rolling over and over in a battle for dominance, kissing and grinding against each other. Rossi trailed his hands down her body as she did the same to him, groaning with desire when he felt how ready for him she was. The last threads of his tenuous self-control snapped when her wandering hands closed firmly around him.

He laid her back on the bed, covering her body with his.

"Dave…" she gasped, "I need you." She shifted so he could settle between her legs. "Now."

Her wet heat welcomed him and they both moaned as he slid home.

"Oh…you feel so good," he mumbled into her neck before mating his lips with hers again as he started to move, weight braced on his forearms. "Beautiful," he whispered. "So beautiful."

There was no hope of slow and sensual, their mutual need was too great. Pip bucked up against him with every thrust and Rossi's concentration narrowed to the sound of her as her pleasure built, the scent of her arousal, the taste of her skin, the feel of her under him, around him. He loved the sound of her cries of delight as he touched her, she was so responsive and it was driving him crazy.

"Pip…oh…Pip, too fast…not going to last…" he managed huskily between groans of pleasure. She'd taken to nibbling on the skin at the base of his throat, an area he'd never known was that sensitive. What she was doing there seemed to transmit the sensations straight to other, more obvious places and he was rapidly, too rapidly, approaching the point of no return.

He latched onto the area on her shoulder he'd identified earlier and bit down, firmly enough to leave a mark. Pip moaned deeply, a beautifully lust-filled and erotic sound he felt all the way to the base of his spine. She sighed his name and dug her fingernails into his back, urging him on; faster, harder, _more_.

"Yes…oh God, Dave…" She was close, he could feel her tightening around him, and involuntarily he picked up his pace, unable to help himself.

"Pip…" His strangled tone held a note of warning; he was hurtling towards the end with no hope of slowing down now.

"Go on," she gasped, in clear approval. "Oh…don't stop!"

Rossi growled, a deeply feral noise of need and lust, and moved his hands to grasp her shoulders, holding tight as he drove into her powerfully, over and over again. He would never have presumed, but the caveman hindbrain was delighted to claim her, mark her as his in this fashion.

Pip reached her peak just before he did, the hot silken vice that held him clamping tighter as she called his name, and he helplessly followed her into oblivion. Rossi managed two more jerky uncoordinated movements and then all he could do was hold her and shudder as the pleasure took over.

* * *

"We can't do that again," Pip said quietly as the sheen of sweat on their bodies cooled. Her eyes were closed; she was already drifting off into a blissful post-coital doze.

"I know," he agreed, aware she was already regretting it, even as they were still entwined with aftershocks rippling through them. For her, this evening had been purely an emotional and physical reaction to events in New York. Nothing deeper than that, and she didn't want a repeat. He ignored the clutch of his heart in his chest that felt like a cruel fist was squeezing the life out of him.

He _definitely_ wanted to do it again. And again, and again and again. He wanted to never stop, he wanted to sleep next to her, wake up next to her, he wanted to bicker over groceries with her, spend every sleeping and waking moment possible in her company.

The revelation that hit him was a terrifying shock. At the ripe age of fifty-one, he had three failed marriages and more flings than he cared to admit behind him. He was a little greyer round the edges and softer round the middle than he'd really like to be. He had also fallen in love again, this time with a woman more than a decade his junior. A woman who'd made it abundantly clear that they were only ever going to be friends, despite what they'd just done.

Oh, _fuck_.

"JJ's pregnant," Rossi blurted desperately, frantically hunting for something to distract himself from the thoughts now whirling in his head. He could have said anything in that moment; it was a miracle it had made sense and wasn't just a jumble of words that pretended to look like a sentence. It felt like someone had planted a tornado in his brain.

A microsecond after the words had left his mouth, it dawned on him that bringing up the subject of pregnancy may have been more than a little insensitive.

"Pip, I'm…"

She silenced him with a gentle elbow to the ribs. "Shush. I know what you're thinking, it's fine. You don't have to tiptoe around it, it's old news." She smiled, eyes still closed. "I knew already anyway. I knew before Will did and I think I knew even before JJ. She threw up every morning for a week before she bought the test." She snuggled closer to him, threading her fingers gently through the dark hair on his chest. "Now hush. Let me just enjoy this bit," she said drowsily. She was asleep moments later, head on his shoulder, legs still tangled with his. She'd achieved the peace she'd sought in their union, and slept like a stone until the alarm went off the following morning.

Rossi barely got a wink all night.

* * *

"What's this?" Pip asked tersely. She'd barged into his office without knocking, as usual.

Rossi looked up. "Flowers, I believe. In a ceramic vase." He allowed his eyes to drop to the flowers and back up to her face. "A rather tasteful arrangement, I might add."

Pip glared at him. "What am I supposed to do with it?"

He cocked his head as if he didn't understand the question. "Look at them, I suppose. They're flowers, you look at them. They're…" he almost said beautiful, but that could have raised awkward questions. "…nice."

"That's not what I meant," she ground out, jaw clenched.

Rossi raised an eyebrow. "I know," he said lightly. He looked back down at the case file in front of him and made pretence of writing something. He didn't, mainly because his attention was still firmly on Pip and the flowers she held. If she decided she was going to throw them at him, he wanted to be ready to duck. That vase looked heavy. Apparently, flowers weren't really her thing. Something to remember.

"Impossible man," she said forcefully and stomped back to her desk, thankfully with vase still in hand.

Rossi smiled. The flowers had been an impulse purchase, something to say that he'd enjoyed what they'd done the previous night, that there were no regrets. That they were still friends and that nothing had changed.

Even if it had for him.


	8. Minimal Loss (S4E3)

_Minimal Loss (S4E3)_

 _ **The problem with having friends was that you might lose them. Or they might get hurt - Gwenda Bond**_

Rossi was sure he'd never forget that moment of sheer panic and terror when he couldn't see Morgan and Reid. The explosion that flattened the libertarian compound had deadened his eardrums to the point that Prentiss' frantic screams for them barely even registered in his hearing. The feeling of relief when they finally emerged from the billowing clouds of dust and smoke was as sweet as the fear had been painful.

Catching sight of Pip waiting in the bullpen for him as the elevator doors slid open was just as much of a relief. After what had happened, an evening arguing with her was just what the doctor ordered. Rossi smiled, an open smile of pleasure at seeing her after the stress of Colorado. He spotted her warning glare and flick of the eyes a second before he realised Hotch had caught the direction of his gaze. Nobody else noticed the atmosphere between them cool rapidly.

As the rest of the team piled out of the elevator, Hotch held him back.

"Dave?" The rest of the question that came with that quiet, authoritative utterance of his name was left unsaid. Hotch had mastered the interrogatory stare while studying to be a lawyer, and his time in the Bureau and as BAU Unit Chief had only honed the skill. He didn't need to ask the question, it stood between them solidly enough to walk into.

"What?" asked Rossi testily in the face of that stare, as if he didn't already know. His friendship with Pip was no one's business except his own, and he'd wanted to keep it that way.

"Dave, there are _rules_ ," growled Hotch sternly. "If Strauss finds out…" He spread his hands. "With your history, she'll run you out of the Bureau."

"Strauss can bite me," snapped Rossi forcefully. "We're just friends." He returned Hotch's glare with one of his own. "Do you give Morgan the same hard time over his relationship with Garcia?"

"Morgan doesn't have your reputation with the women he works with," said Hotch reprovingly.

"No, just the ones he doesn't," retorted Rossi, before sighing. "That was a long time ago, Aaron. That's not the man I am anymore." He fought to keep a poker face. His friendship with Pip had started originally because he'd planned on doing _exactly_ what Hotch was accusing him of.

"So, you're not sleeping with her?" pressed Hotch intently.

Rossi rolled his eyes. "No." It had only been the once, after all, regardless what he'd like to the contrary. Pip had been clear on the matter and he'd continue to respect that. Neither Hotch nor Pip needed to know it was her he pictured when he took himself in hand in the shower.

"We're back, it was stressful and I'm glad to see my friend, that's all," he insisted. "I plan to take her out for dinner, drink far too much red wine, top it off with a scotch or two and relax, all while dodging a constant barrage of disrespectful commentary on everything I think or believe."

Hotch searched his face and apparently found what he wanted. He nodded. "Alright." He glanced towards the bullpen. "I thought you two hated each other," he said thoughtfully. "You do nothing but argue."

Rossi chuckled. "She's creative with her insults, I'll give her that. A bottle of wine turns those insults into carefully crafted disparaging remarks on my opinions of just about everything. It's refreshingly entertaining."

Hotch clapped him on the shoulder. "More like masochistic," he said, his tone lighter, before turning serious again. "Be careful, Dave. " _Here be dragons_ ", remember?"

He walked away, leaving Rossi to wonder just how much of his relationship with Pip Hotch had already known about, and how long for.

A gentle touch on his elbow broke him from his reverie. He didn't need to turn to know who it was, the subtle fragrance identifying her to his senses before she spoke. Coconut and vanilla from her shampoo, honeysuckle, and something else he couldn't put a name to, but which was uniquely _her_. Rossi wanted to just bury his face in the crook of her neck and inhale, breathe her into his lungs and drown in her scent.

"He emailed me from the plane to say we'd do the closing paperwork tomorrow," said Pip, looking in the direction Hotch had gone. She frowned. "What was that expression all about?" she asked. "He didn't look happy." She paused, and added, "less than usual, I mean."

"Us," Rossi replied wearily. "He said the Director would hang me if we were sleeping together."

"Well," she said lightly, jabbing an elbow into his side, "it's a good job we're not then, isn't it?"

Rossi glanced sideways at her. "Not… _strictly_ true," he muttered.

"Once." She elbowed him again. "We're just friends. Nothing changed."

Rossi bit his tongue hard enough to hurt. He wanted to tell her how much things _had_ changed, at least for him. But his revelation that night also meant that he would abide by her boundaries, the limits she'd put in place. It was one-sided, that much was obvious; she loved him as a friend and that was all. So, he'd hold his counsel, continue to be just her friend; to make sure he would still be able to spend time with her, to selfishly have her to himself on these precious nights.

He'd been silent long enough for Pip to search his face, to analyse his expression the same way Hotch had done. She obviously saw something of his bleak thoughts that Hotch hadn't, because she looped her arm through his and tugged gently.

"Come on, you look like you need feeding and insulting. Although not necessarily in that order." She dropped him a cheeky wink, and startled, he could do nothing but smile in response.

With that smile, he could follow her, feeling a little lighter. As he always did in her company.

* * *

She cast a questioning glance towards the whisky when she brought the coffee through. He was sorely tempted. After his conversation with Hotch, an evening with Pip had brought everything he thought and felt about her to the forefront of his mind, but Rossi shook his head. Tonight, just conversation and coffee would do, lest he said something he ought not. The fact that she'd offered it showed how well she knew him. The single malt was for when it had been really bad, or his thoughts particularly dark.

That evening, his thoughts weren't dark, just impossible. About something he couldn't tell her, and because he told her everything, she knew there was something on his mind. Catch-22. For a moment, Rossi reconsidered her offer of the single malt; just to get it over with, for the whisky would make his confession inevitable. To just blurt it out, to hell with the consequences. He immediately dismissed the idea. Not a sensible thing to do, not if he wanted to keep the little piece of her life that he had.

There was period of companionable silence as they both sat and savoured their coffee. Distant sounds of rowdy locals on their way home filtered up from street level, mingling with the Jazz and familiar odour of pot from the apartment below.

"Was it the case?" asked Pip eventually, "that put that look on your face?" Her tone made it clear she didn't really think it was, but was offering him an escape route against better judgement. She'd nested herself into her usual position, back against the arm of the sofa, but that evening she'd stretched her legs out. She nudged his thigh with a sock-clad foot to punctuate her question when he didn't answer. Rossi turned to look at her and Pip nodded. "Yeah, that's the one."

Rossi opened his mouth to speak with no idea of what he was about to say. "I thought, just for a second, that we'd lost Morgan and Reid this afternoon."

It wasn't what was immediately troubling him, but saying it aloud made Rossi realise just how much that feeling had frightened him. And how badly it still bothered him, even sat safely on her couch hours later. At the time, with the adrenaline pumping and the hostages streaming past, it had been scary as hell. Relatively sober and without the emotional numbing that came with an adrenaline rush, he could admit just how strong the fear had been.

"When the compound blew, there was this…this _moment_ …and it felt like it was as long as a lifetime, before they emerged from the smoke. In that moment, I was sure they were dead." He offered her a tiny smile, no more than a wry, self-deprecating twitch of his lips. "Last time something hit me _that_ hard, I'd been shot." Not entirely true, his revelation the night after New York now held that title, but he could never say that.

Her eyes widened. "That little detail hadn't filtered back to Quantico."

"You think any of us wanted to tell Garcia that we could have lost Morgan, after what he did in New York?" Rossi retorted. "She'd never let him out of the building again!"

Pip pursed her lips to prevent a smile. "Fair point." She considered him for a moment. "We've both lost people on the job before, so I'll save you the overly trite psycho-babble bullshit. Regardless of how it happened, who did what, what could have been different, or how close it was, they're alright. Hang on to that. Obsessing over the what-ifs never helped anybody."

Rossi let out a deep breath and nodded. "I know. But that moment will live with me for a little while, I think."

"Of course it will, you're human like the rest of us and we all love our friends. Especially those that are more like family." Pip prodded him with her foot again. "It's ok to be troubled by it. You're not a superhuman, Dave."

"Just a possessed of a super-sized ego?" he asked, trying to lighten the mood.

Any other time, she would have jumped on that easy opening with a sassy remark, but their time over coffee in her tiny apartment was different. Pip just cocked her head and raised an eyebrow. "I think you earned some of that, the rest is just a barrier to keep people out," she asserted.

That was uncomfortably accurate. Rossi looked down at his hands, fiddling with his FBI signet ring to avoid her eyes. "Are you _sure_ you're not a profiler?" he asked suspiciously.

Pip huffed with amusement. "Profiler? No, but my life story reads like a badly-written daytime soap opera. Trust me, I've seen some things over the years. If you add my role in the BAU to that rather chaotic real-world education…" She shrugged. "Every report, every file, every tiny bit of analysis comes across my desk eventually. Everything you band of illiterate apes produce, down to the last poorly punctuated set of field notes written in multi-coloured chicken scratch." She smiled at him. "You pick things up, it's like osmosis. Be around it long enough and it kind of rubs off whether you like it or not."

He smiled a little at her description. His habit of using different colours in his notes had always struck her as odd, and she never hesitated to tease him about it. "And that unofficial tutelage makes you think I'm...what, projecting?"

"Nope," she said easily. "I don't think, I _know_. Beyond what little profiling skill I've absorbed, willingly or otherwise, I know _you_." Pip favoured him with a soft look that Rossi caught out the corner of his eye. A look he _felt_ more than saw. "You're not nearly as much of an asshole as you try so hard to come across as." She leaned forward to put her empty mug on the table. "I just can't work out why."

"I don't want to get hurt. I've had too much of that," replied Rossi gruffly. His thoughts had gone full circle again, no longer thinking of Reid and Morgan and the billowing dust, but of her. He'd spoken without thinking, but what he'd said was true in both contexts.

"Doesn't work though, does it?" asked Pip, completely unfazed by the glare he threw in her direction. "Don't look at me in that tone of voice, it doesn't work, not on me. Never did," she added dismissively. "Keeping people at arm's length doesn't work either, and you know it doesn't. Otherwise you wouldn't have been so scared when you couldn't see Agent Morgan and Dr Reid."

Rossi shut his mouth with a snap. "You're incredibly frustrating when you're right, you know that?" Not to mention beautiful, with that glint dancing in her eyes.

"Yeah, I know. Accept the good in your life. Like me, I'm a fucking delight." She grinned at him as he laughed before yawning widely. "Ah, bedtime I think. You going to sleep alright? Do you want to stay?"

As with the offer of whisky, it was tempting, but he decided against it.

"No, I'll be fine." Rossi drained the last of the coffee from his mug and stood to leave, gathering his coat from the arm of the sofa. He quirked her a crooked smile. "Thanks for the offer," he said, as he made his way to the door.

"Dave?" He turned to see she'd followed him. "Is everything really ok? You seem a little…I don't know, off, this evening. It's late, but I'm here for you if you want to stay a bit longer."

"I'm tired, that's all," he reassured her, hoping she couldn't spot the lie.

Pip wrapped her arms around him in a hug, and after a millisecond of hesitation, he followed suit. With his chin resting on her shoulder, Rossi closed his eyes and just breathed her in. He stayed like that as long as he dared before reluctantly pulling away.

Pip held onto him long enough to whisper, "I don't believe you," in his ear as they separated.

"Good night Pip." His voice had a note of finality to it, a gentle warning not to tread any further.

She frowned, but nodded, accepting. "Good night Dave."

The sound of her door shutting behind him sounded like the clang of an iron cage closing around his heart.


	9. The Instincts-Memoriam (S4E6-7)

_The Instincts/Memoriam (S4E6-7)_

 _ **Threatening a current or former partner isn't passion, or love, or heartache. It's violence, it's abuse and it's a crime - Miya Yamanouchi**_

Pip had brushed past him on the way to the conference room and muttered, "I'll see you when you get back," so he knew they were in for a rough ride. It took the barest glimpse of the files JJ passed around to confirm that. One dead child, another missing. The worst ones always involved children, and their poor parents had been taunted by phone calls from the UnSub just to add to their distress. Hotch didn't even give them time to talk it though, directing them straight to the waiting jet. They'd do their initial analysis in the air on the way to Las Vegas.

Reid's dreams and odd flashes of memory concerned Rossi the whole time they were there, even while they were searching for young Michael Bridges. He wasn't the only one either, both Morgan and JJ had picked up on at least some of the same things he had. Reid remained on Rossi's mind, even as he laughed and joked with the rest of the team over Chinese food after Michael had been found.

So when Reid clumsily offered an excuse to stay the following morning, Rossi exchanged knowing glances with JJ and Morgan. Once they were out of eyeshot of Reid, JJ ducked away to make a phone call, and seconds after she hung up, Rossi's cell rang.

"If you and Agent Morgan are staying in Vegas, you'll have to share your room," said Pip without preamble. "I can't extend his and you've already got a twin. Dr Reid's in 419."

"Nice to hear from you, too," he said sarcastically. "JJ could have told me that," he added more quietly, not wishing to broadcast who he was talking to. A thread of unease wound its way through him. Pip usually coordinated everything by email or through JJ when the team were out on a case, she never called him unless she had immediate concerns over his safety. Or if something was really wrong.

"Yeah, it's a privilege for you, I know. Try not to get overwhelmed," was her deadpan response.

"Is everything ok? You sound…"

"Like I have a bug up my ass?" Pip uttered a brief bark of laughter. "Yeah, I've been getting that a lot today. What can I say? Sometimes life just pisses you off."

"Someone invent a new form for you to deal with?"

She sighed. "Something like that."

"Are you _sure_ you're alright?" asked Rossi uncomfortably. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that she wasn't being completely honest with him. _Something_ was up or she wouldn't have called him.

"Go look after Dr Reid. I'm a big girl, I'll manage," replied Pip briskly. Too brisk.

"Pip…"

"Bugger off and let me work, Dave," she said, but he could hear the smile that came with the unkind words, taking the sting from what she said. "We can't all just swan off and spend the night in Vegas for the hell of it. Some of us actually work for a fucking living."

Rossi relaxed a little. She was swearing at him, which was a bit more like her, and less like the cold abruptness with which she'd started the call. For some reason, when aimed at him, her profanity and insults seemed _warm_ , almost fond. It was how they worked. For whatever reason, talking to him was easing her mood.

"I've got a whole new case to administrate," Pip continued, "and the others haven't even taken off yet to bring me the stuff from the one you just closed. I think my poor pillow has forgotten what I look like."

"I'll see you when we get back?" Rossi managed to turn it into a question at the last second. The Bridges case had gone well, not one that would necessarily mean a night of wine and Italian food. There was no knowing how the thing with Reid would turn out, but some instinct said he ought to offer.

"Oh, _definitely_ ," replied Pip with feeling. "I'll be waiting." And then she was gone, never one for long goodbyes over the phone. Her emphatic response to the offer of his ear was a little worrying, and the unease that had prickled at him before returned with a vengeance.

* * *

They'd known while still in Vegas that JJ had gone into labour, and then been delivered of a healthy little boy. On the flight home, Rossi was torn between seeing Pip, or going to meet JJ and her baby when they landed. Morgan and Reid were clearly planning on going to the hospital to check in with the newest addition to the BAU family, and so he finally decided that Pip took precedence. JJ would still be there in the morning and she would have more than enough visitors that evening to wear her out several times over. His instincts said that Pip needed to see him more.

With that in mind, Rossi volunteered to take their case files back to the office for them, much to the pleasure of Morgan and Reid. The two men dived for Morgan's car as soon as they clambered out of the Bureau SUV they'd shared from the air strip. Pip was leaning on her desk when Rossi nudged the door to the bullpen open with his ass, arms full of files.

"Ah, a little help? Would be nice?" he said as he struggled to get through the door.

"You seem to be doing alright," she replied, before taking pity on him and disentangling his jacket from the door handle. "Give me that lot," she ordered, pointing to the pile in his arms.

"No, it's heavy; just tell me where you want me to put it."

Pip laughed. "You _really_ don't want me to answer that today," she replied smartly, scooping up the entire heap from his grasp with ease. "I work out with less, trust me," she commented, turning away to dump it on her desk before grabbing her bag and coat. "Well, that's tomorrow's work lined up, I suppose," she said with a mock sigh. "And there was me wondering what I'd do all day."

Rossi chuckled. "You'd find someone to annoy I'm sure."

"You probably," she agreed with a smirk. "I bought a top up," she said, fishing a bottle of single malt from her bag. "I think we'll need it." Pip waved it briefly in his direction before burying it again in the recesses of her trusty backpack.

Rossi eyed the bottle uneasily as it disappeared back out of sight. This didn't bode well. "For you or me?" he asked warily.

Pip gave him an indecipherable look and bit her lip. "Um…that could go either way."

* * *

The answer to that particular mystery didn't start to become apparent until they reached her front door. Pip had been unusually caustic that evening over dinner, sometimes to the point that Rossi actually had to remind himself that for all outward appearances, it wasn't actually aimed at him. She'd avoided all his circumspect queries about what was wrong. Something had obviously happened; something she wanted to tell him about, yet also desperately wanted to keep to herself.

The new front door was part of the answer; the embarrassed glance she gave him as she struggled to unlock it told him that. It was a heavier door than previously, with a four point lock and a chain for good measure. Pip ignored the questioning look Rossi gave her as he closed it behind them, busying herself disabling the alarm. That was also new.

"You want coffee or shall I just get the bottle?" she asked resignedly.

"We'll start with coffee and go from there," said Rossi carefully, eyes darting around the room, noting the changes.

Pip just nodded and disappeared into the kitchen, leaving Rossi with a rising sense of agitation. New door, with a heavy security chain. New alarm system. New locks on the windows. Baseball bat by the door.

He was still stood there when Pip returned. "Make yourself at home, Dave, you know the way to the couch, right?" she said irreverently, moving round him to take her own seat.

"I'm not sure, there's a lot of new stuff in here," he said slowly. "Looks a little like Fort Knox." He sat down in what had become his customary place, lounging back with one knee crossed over the other. Pip nestled in her usual corner, knees to her chest and coffee balanced on top. She peered at him through the steam rising from her mug.

"What's with all the new security?" he asked.

"I deemed it necessary in the circumstances," she replied evasively.

"Necessary," echoed Rossi flatly, his frustration with her cryptic answers clear in his tone. If there was point in there somewhere, she was taking the scenic route to get to it. "What circumstances?" he asked forcefully.

Pip continued to look at him through the steam, before uncoiling and putting her coffee down in one fluid movement. She stood, and strode silently to the shelf by the TV where the whisky lived.

She sat back down with the bottle and both glasses, next to him this time. She poured the remains of the open bottle into one of the tumblers and held it out to him. It was a hefty measure.

"Drink that," Pip ordered, in a tone that brooked no argument.

Rossi looked from her face to the glass and back again before reaching out to take it. "Are you trying to get me drunk for some reason?" he asked uncertainly, not quite sure what to make of her behaviour. She seemed… _on edge_ somehow. Unsure. Something she hadn't been with him since…well, _ever_.

Pip huffed and folded her arms, still holding the empty bottle. "Just drink it," she said, watching him intently. "I'm not saying a word before you do."

Rossi took a mouthful without taking his eyes off her face. "Ok," he said. "Now what?"

"And the rest."

That gave him pause, but he did as she asked, draining the glass in two swallows. He startled when she cracked the seal on the new bottle from her bag and refilled his tumbler to the same level as before. "Pip, what…"

"Damon came by again."

The second shot went down in one go. The depth of the white-hot rage was staggering and he had to do _something_ to take the edge off. It was that, or start shouting.

"Now do you see why I brought out the bottle?" she asked. "Damage limitation. I knew you'd be pissed." Pip poured a shot into her coffee and put the bottle in question back on the table within easy reach of his hand.

"I'll kill him," Rossi snarled, once speech was possible. He put the empty tumbler down carefully in case he was tempted to refill it. Or throw it. He didn't want Damon within a mile of Pip. Damon had hit her, at least twice to his knowledge, and he was supposed to be in jail where he belonged. "I thought he was locked up."

"He was. Overcrowding, good behaviour, blah blah blah. They released him," said Pip calmly, but with an clear undercurrent of disgust. "He always was good at looking contrite and pathetic when he was sober," she added bitterly.

"He didn't…"

Pip shook her head and held out her bruise-free arms. "No."

That was a relief. "How did he get in?" To get to her door, you first had to unlock the main front door downstairs, and Rossi knew the lock had been changed after Damon had come around the last time.

Pip rolled her eyes. "Old Mrs Thing downstairs left the front door on the latch. I woke her up coming in and she let the dog out for a shit. Don't know why she bothered, damn thing usually does it in fucking the hallway anyway."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rossi asked, his voice low and angry.

"Because I knew you'd go off the deep end," she said shortly. "And because you were more than two and a half thousand miles away, investigating the disappearance of a young boy and I had it under control."

Rossi scrubbed his face with his hands and let out a heavy sigh of frustration. "What happened?"

"He started banging on my door absolutely shitfaced at some ungodly hour of the morning barely ten minutes after I'd got home. He was yelling, making threats, and woke up the whole building with his noise," Pip replied dismissively. "Police turned up and took him away; he's in a cell awaiting a bail hearing. He assaulted a police officer," she added when Rossi raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "He took a swing when they tried to stop him falling over his own feet, and knocked one of the cops right on his ass and almost down the stairs. I doubt he'll make bail, not with his record, and they don't take too kindly to an attack on one of their own."

"But he didn't hurt _you_?" That was the first thing Rossi was concerned with. The lack of visible bruises was reassuring, but not categoric evidence. In addition, the exact nature of the threats she'd mentioned would _definitely_ be a topic of conversation in the fairly immediate future.

Pip smiled gently at him and shook her head. "I didn't even open the door until after they'd taken him away."

Rossi let out a relieved breath. "Good. And the added security? How did you manage that at such short notice?"

"Amber's landlord runs a home security firm, he fixed me up. New door, new window locks, an alarm system with a silent trigger in the bedroom. Amber gave me the bat." She spread her arms. "My very own fortress. Problem solved!"

Her apparent dismissal of the situation annoyed him. "You shouldn't have to barricade yourself in your own fucking apartment!" he cried. "If he's stalking you, then we need to deal with him."

"Stalking? It's not _that_ serious," Pip argued. "He got hammered, decided he wanted to try and convince me I still loved him and showed up here shouting. Then he got arrested. End of." She pointed her finger at him. "And there is no "we". I _have_ dealt with it. Filed the papers for a Restraining Order yesterday morning on the microscopic chance that he makes bail." Pip drained her coffee and poured herself a measure of the single malt, looking over the rim of her glass at him.

"Besides," she continued, "your idea of "dealing with him" probably involves ripping Damon limb from limb…"

"Damn right it does," Rossi muttered under his breath.

"…and I'd rather like to avoid replacing the rug again on his account if I can help it," finished Pip with an irreverent smile. "Once is enough."

"This isn't funny, Pip!" Rossi barked.

"Do I look like I'm fucking laughing?" she fired back hotly. "He basically threatened to break in and rape me!"

"WHAT!?" Rossi found himself on his feet with no recollection of how he had got that way. Where would Damon be held? His fists clenched. He was going to find out, and then he was going to tear the miserable cretin's throat out with his bare hands. Just for starters.

"Oh, for fuck's sake, Dave! Sit down before you give yourself a coronary," snapped Pip, reaching up to tug on his shirt until he subsided unwillingly back down onto the couch. "He didn't say it in so many words, but…yeah."

"What exactly _did_ he say?" growled Rossi, feeling his pulse still thudding angrily in his ears. He refilled his drink, a more sensible shot than she'd poured for him. Evidently he needed a little more liquid fortification.

"That he'd wake me up like he used to," replied Pip, as frustratingly cryptic as ever.

Rossi shook his head. "What? I don't understand. What does that mean?" he asked impatiently.

Pip sighed. "Sometimes, early on, when it was all still good, he'd wake me up on the weekends like that," she said wistfully. "We used to call it "Saturday Morning Sex". It was…sweet. Gentle. Loving. A wonderful way to start the day." She huffed disdainfully. "Guess he's tainted those memories as well now."

"He threatened a federal agent, threatened _you_ …"

"Dave, Damon isn't _nearly_ smart enough or brave enough to actually try anything like that," she interrupted. "He was just trying to scare me."

"Looks like it worked," he commented acerbically, gesturing vaguely around the apartment with his free hand. He glanced over at her when she didn't respond.

Pip offered him a sad, twisted sort of smile. "A little," she admitted. "It shouldn't, he always was full of shit and empty promises." Her bitterness and disappointment about that were clear.

Rossi made an effort to douse his ire. Regardless of how he felt about it, the entire incident had unsettled Pip already and him getting angry at her over it wouldn't help. He shifted so their shoulders touched. "How on earth did _you_ end up with scum like _that_?"

Pip snorted. "Usual story," she said. "Girl meets boy while out drowning her sorrows, girl takes boy home." She shrugged. "Boy moves in with girl. Boy puts girl in the ER, girl throws him out and changes the locks." She paused. "He was a vicious jerk when he drank."

So, Pip definitely had history of using sex as a form of escape. He'd suspected that already, but not had such categoric evidence before. The circumstances that had led to her to coming on to him, both times, had been after traumatic experiences of some sort. First time, he'd resisted. Second time, he'd been shaken enough by what had happened in New York that he hadn't been able to. Hadn't _wanted_ to, not with the forbidden object of his desire so willing and eager. Presumably, a situation or event similar enough had let Damon into her life, although why she'd let him stay for any length of time was something Rossi would probably never understand.

Anything he could have said would have sounded clichéd, so he said nothing; instead simply putting his arm around her shoulder and pulling her against his solid warmth. She relaxed against him, and they sat in silence together for a while as the whisky went down.

"Dave?" Her quiet voice nudged Rossi back from the precipice of sleep.

"Hmm?" He opened his eyes to see her looking up at him, their faces close enough that he could have bent his head only a little and kissed her.

"Would you stay the night?"

Rossi smiled and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Of course."

He had no intention of letting her out of his sight for the time being. The more he learned about Pip, the more he could see that the militantly confident and bossy façade she presented to everyone else, was exactly that. A façade. The real Pip, the Pip she let _him_ see, was far more vulnerable, far more wary of the world than anyone would believe. Just like him. He saw _Pip_ , in the same way she could see _Dave_.

They curled up together in her bed, she in pyjamas, he in the familiar grey joggers and a well-worn overly large Academy t-shirt she'd dug out for him. Despite the locks and the alarm, Rossi left his gun within easy reach on the nightstand and kept a protective arm wrapped around her all night.

* * *

There was an unfamiliar set of keys on his desk. Rossi picked them up, noting the lunatic bovine on the key fob. They could only be from Pip; the cow looked just as deranged as the animals on her plastic tumblers. She'd given him a key to her apartment, and one to the main door downstairs on a separate ring. That one had a small rifle round on a chain suspended from it, presumably so he could tell the difference. The note that had been with the keys fluttered to the floor.

He picked it up, turning it over in his hands. He'd recognise her flamboyant handwriting anywhere. Pip's script was rounded and exaggerated, a product of the nerve damage affecting her hand.

" _Just in case."_

The implication made his hand spasm round the note, crumpling it in his fist, even as he gently tucked the keys in his pocket. The words took away any of the pleasure he might have felt at being given a set of her keys.

Rossi decided then and there that he was going to try and find out more about Damon, regardless that he'd promised not to.


	10. Bloodline (S4E13)

_Bloodline (S4E13)_

 _ **You can spend minutes, hours, days, weeks, or even months over-analyzing a situation; trying to put the pieces together, justifying what could've, would've happened... or you can just leave the pieces on the floor and move the fuck on - Tupac Shakur**_

Damon had to wait. First Rothschild got under his skin, then the cases just kept coming, rapid-fire, one after the other: Atlanta, Phoenix, California, Florida. For nearly a month, it felt like Rossi saw nothing but hotel rooms in different shades and layouts that somehow still all managed to look the same. His contact with Pip was minimal – the rare times he was in the office, she was just as busy as he was and barely had time to do more than throw an affectionately pointed barb his way as she shuttled the paperwork on and off his desk. Neither of them had much time or energy for dinner, their few evenings together were brief and friendly, but Rossi never stayed late, nor did they venture into anything other than casual conversation.

In a brief lull after Florida, Rossi set to work. With no description and no idea if the name Pip had given him was first, last or nickname, the list of men he found in the local area with recent alcohol or violence charges to their name was a depressingly long one. It didn't get much shorter by narrowing it by those who had fought back when arrested.

Unwilling to just hand Garcia Pip's name as the plaintiff, Rossi didn't ask for her help to reduce it further by checking which of those remaining had a Restraining Order against them. He'd try to work it out himself from the daunting list he'd produced, although it would take him a lot longer.

Said list ended up getting hurriedly shoved in Rossi's desk drawer as Pip barged into his office unannounced, dragging a trolley overloaded with files.

Rossi groaned. When she had to cart their work to them on a trolley, it didn't bode well.

"Relax," she said with a broad grin. "Most of this is for next door." She cocked her thumb at the dividing wall between his office and Hotch's. "However, this heap _is_ for you." She picked up a smaller pile balanced on top of the rest and doled them out to him.

"This one, need you to fill in the AIS1 again, parts two, four and five. I've put it inside for you. Don't fuck it up like you did last time. There's a new Chief Witchhunter in Internal Affairs who'd just _love_ to nail you up as a poor example of Bureau compliance with the red tape." She dropped the file onto his desk, followed by two more. "Those two just need reading and signing."

Pip held up another file, this time with an amused smirk. "I'm pretty sure you meant "mitigate" not "migrate" in this one, at least I hope you did. You decide. What have I told you about letting spellcheck have all it's own way?" she asked with a snigger. "It also corrected every "Prentiss" to "Apprentice", so I'd change that as well before she shoots you. Not that you wouldn't deserve it for being dumb enough to hand control over to the spellchecker."

Pip waved the final file at him. "And this one? Aside from your abuse of the common comma, I mean really, would the occasional semi-colon kill you? I'm missing your annotations on the copy of the FIC for all Agents involved."

"Slave driver," muttered Rossi.

"You love it, I'm sure you make a mess of things just so I have to clean up after you." Pip turned to leave, and then swung back as something else occurred to her. "By the way, did you get a new red pen recently? It doesn't photocopy well, and it's driving me batshit," she said tartly. "I know you're a overly fussy anal-retentive neat freak who colour codes his notes, but for the sake of my sanity either pick a new pen or pick a new colour. I don't care which."

Rossi laughed. "Considering my choice of writing instrument impacts on your tenuous mental health, I will find a different red pen," he said with a smile.

"The team thanks you," she said with a smirk, offering him an extravagant bow of appreciation.

"Pip?" he asked, before she turned away again. "You want to go out tonight? It's been a while…"

It had been, and there was always the possibility he'd be able to ferret out a little detail or two on the infamous Damon. Details he could that he could use to get a proper ID on him. The list currently burning a hole in his desk drawer was _long_ and he'd take any opportunity for more information he could get.

The conflict on her face was immediately clear and Rossi's heart sank. She had plans.

"Amber and I…we were going to meet up with Mark, you know, Agent Holden?" Rossi nodded, he remembered the blonde, and his crush on Hotch. "We haven't been out together since he transferred out, his team caught a big case and he got to go to Brazil of all places, lucky bastard. And now he's back…" Pip paused. "Is everything ok? I can cancel?" she offered.

Rossi felt a tight band of guilt wind itself around him like a constrictor snake. She'd drop everything if he asked; abandon plans for a night out with a friend she hadn't seen for months if he said he needed her. For a moment he was tempted to do so, despite the vigorous objections from his conscience.

"No, everything's fine," he reassured her. "Just thought I'd ask. Enjoy your evening."

Pip gave him a searching look before nodding. "Ok."

* * *

Rossi didn't get the chance to ask again before another case rolled in, work taking over their lives once more.

The child abductions in Alabama would feed his nightmares for a while. They would never know how many children had been taken over the generations, or find any of them either, in all likelihood. _"Don't tell them about your brothers."_ Words that would undoubtedly stay in his mind and haunt him in the early hours of the morning long after the woman who'd uttered them faced justice.

The mood among the team on the way home was a sombre one, each lost in their own thoughts, an atmosphere that remained even as they parted ways.

Hotch shared the elevator back down to the parking garage with Rossi and Pip. Hotch had seen him waiting for her in the bullpen when they'd finished the closing paperwork, and had made a point of joining them as they left together. Resigned to the fact that Hotch knew of his decidedly unconventional friendship with her, Rossi didn't hesitate in retaliating when Pip started to spar with him in the elevator over menu choices. Discussions got quite animated when she suggested he put ketchup on his pasta to sweeten his disposition a bit.

Rossi told her _exactly_ what she could do with that idea, forcefully and at great length. But he told her in Italian, knowing Hotch would have some stern words to say to him if he'd said it in English. It was one thing Hotch knowing they argued as part of their friendship, it would be quite another for him to realise just how personal and cutting they could be with each other in the heat of the moment.

Pip never missed a beat, rattling off a chain of Italian curses in reply that would have made the hardiest of sailors blush. Some of which Hotch recognised, even if not understood, from the way his eyebrows shot into his hairline.

"Masochist," he muttered quietly in Rossi's ear as the doors opened.

"Worth every second," Rossi whispered back. The smile that had been creeping slowly across his face as Pip argued with him, broke out into a full-fledged grin that felt good after the miserable mood on the plane.

Hotch looked at him strangely for a moment before shaking his head and walking away.

* * *

"Todd's going back to Counter Terrorism," Rossi commented over the last bites of his dessert. He'd avoided talking about work all the way through dinner, just wanting to enjoy the moment. She'd ripped apart his assessment of the most recent instalment of a scary movie franchise, and he'd countered with the biophysical impossibilities of the parkour gameplay in the latest video game she was obsessed with. Both resulting debates had been incredibly stimulating, easing some of the ache in his heart over what they'd found in Alabama.

"I know," replied Pip distractedly, chasing the last few morsels of cheesecake around her plate. "You know that I always know about these things first." She gave him a smug grin which faded when Rossi just nodded. "Let's get out of here."

Pip called the bill and then proceeded to try and pay it over his spluttered objections. Usually, he paid. Or at least split it halfway if she nagged him enough.

"Pip, I'm a multimillionaire. I've got more money than I rightly know what to do with, let me get this." Rossi captured the bill from the table before she could grab it.

Pip snatched the bill from his hand before he'd even be able to glance at it. "Shut up, Dave. I couldn't give a monkey's how rich you are. Let me be a modern woman once in a while."

"Overbearing feminist dictator," he grumbled as they left the restaurant.

"Grouchy old-fashioned dinosaur," she replied cheerfully and let him loop her arm through his as they started to walk.

* * *

Sat in the depths of her endlessly comfortable sofa, Rossi realised her apartment felt like home. He already had permission to use the key she'd given him whenever he wanted, to just turn up if he wanted some company or someone to talk to. Or just to beat her high score on whatever video game she was currently playing. Pip was intensely private, none of her other friends had a key, his access to her home was a unique honour. It was a reassuring knowledge, that her tiny top floor attic space was also his space as well.

A space that was saturated with the scent of coffee and of her; Rossi took in a deep breath of it and immediately felt himself relax. Pip was still in the kitchen, so he closed his eyes and took another, just enjoying the spreading sensation of ease that came with it.

"It's not Todd leaving that's on your mind, is it?" Pip asked as she returned, coffee in hand.

Rossi opened his eyes and took the proffered mug.

"No." He took a measured sip to give himself time to get his thoughts in order. "The ones with children…they're always the worst," he started. Pip made a noise of assent but didn't interrupt. "There's more missing girls out there, that family…the unknown number of sons they raised are out doing the same thing and we'll never know where they are…how many…we stopped two people, but the cycle continues."

Pip scooted across the couch to lay a warm hand on his shoulder. "Dave, you rescued that girl. She's back with her family because of the BAU." The hand tightened. "You've got a big brain and a caring heart, but you can't save everyone. That's just the way it goes."

Rossi made a noise of frustrated agreement and nodded. "I know. It's just tough when it's kids that you can't save."

"It sucks," she agreed, pulling on his shoulder until he turned to face her. "That's not all of it though, is it? Spit it out, Dave, bottling it up isn't healthy." She snorted. "Trust me I know, I'm a Black Belt of the Ostrich Method."

Rossi could hear the implied capitalisation. He furrowed his brow in confusion, temporarily distracted from the matter at hand. "Ostrich Method?" he asked.

"Burying your head in the sand in the hope that it all goes away."

Rossi chuckled. "I know it well." Although she was curing him of that. With the exception of the hopeless unrequited love he had for her, he told Pip everything, and felt better for it. If she'd been around the first time he'd been part of the BAU, he probably wouldn't have left.

Although given his behaviour back then, he probably would have fucked it up _long_ before they'd reached this sort of deep, binding friendship. He wasn't known as an arrogant jerk for nothing.

"So give," she said. "Come on. Tell me."

He sighed. "The cases involving children, dead or alive, they hit hardest. That's natural. No parent should have to outlive their children." Although he had, hadn't he? "But I see in Hotch's eyes how much harder it is for him. He's a parent. I don't have kids, I can't imagine what it's like, but I get a glimpse of it whenever I look at him."

"You're worried about JJ coming back." It wasn't a question.

"She's a good Agent, and God knows we need her. Todd did the job, but she doesn't have the same steady hand on the tiller that JJ had. We all miss JJ." Rossi nodded wearily. "But, yes. I worry. Now she's a mother, it will either make her more determined, more driven to clean the world up for Henry's sake…or the gruesome horror of it all will break her and we'll lose her for good."

"JJ's strong. Stronger than you think, and incredibly resourceful." Pip grinned at him. "Don't underestimate her; she handles you lot with no trouble, despite the overrepresentation of alpha male testosterone. She'll be fine."

"I had no idea you paid so much attention to the testosterone levels in the office," he said with a teasing smile.

"Prat." Pip smirked and flapped a disdainful hand. "You know exactly what I mean."

"You have no trouble ordering us around either," he commented, eyebrow raising.

She grinned. "That's because you lot couldn't organise a cock-up in a whorehouse without my help, and you all know it."

Rossi chuckled. "True." It was. Without Pip, and by extension, her team, the profilers would have to arrange their own flights, hotels, cars, and a million other things. They'd never have time to get any profiling done without her dedicated little crew.

"She'll be ok," said Pip reassuringly. "I think she'll struggle to leave Henry at home at first, but she'll dive right in." She gave him a sideways glance. "JJ's a badass, and she'll make a good profiler when she makes the move."

Rossi considered that. "Do you know something I don't?" he asked slowly. "Last I heard, she was adamant that she didn't want that." JJ was quite vociferous about it actually, keen to keep the distance between her role and that of the profilers.

"I've seen it before," was her airy reply. "I see something like it every day in Amber," Pip added more seriously. "Although she's much, _much_ closer to doing it than JJ. One day soon she'll leave BAA, test in as an Agent, and go out into that big scary world to clean up a little piece of it."

"Good for her," said Rossi, watching Pip carefully. There was something else there. "She's got great attention to detail, but she'll have to work on her aim, if I remember rightly. And her physicality, there's nothing of her."

"And yet she never stops eating!" exclaimed Pip. "If I ate like she does, I'd be the size of a _house_. I've got a _list_ of people I'd cheerfully kill just to have her metabolism." The smile that came with that jokey comment looked a little forced to Rossi's experienced eyes.

"But you don't want her to go." He knew he'd hit the mark when her eyes narrowed.

"No fair," she muttered. "No profiling."

"It's what I do, _bella,_ part of who I am. I can't just turn it off." The endearment slipped out unintentionally, yet felt very natural. "Come on."

"Humpf," she grunted. "I don't like change, you know that."

He did know. She was as bad, if not worse at coping with change than he was.

"And?" Rossi let the question hang, knowing she'd fill the silence. She wanted to talk, or she'd never have mentioned it.

"And Holden's replacement will start soon. I'm the boss, but I don't interview replacements, I just get assigned them," she replied wearily. "I've probably got some fresh, wet behind the ears recruit full of book learning on logistics and little else. I'll have to unteach them everything they know and show them how it _really_ works, all while still doing the work of two people. If Amber goes in less than six months…I'll have a second tenderfoot to train," Pip rolled her eyes, "and I just _love_ trying to tell accountants what to do," she added as an aside, "all just as Margaret retires. And then I'll have a third. A _lawyer_. The only thing I hate more than bean-counting finance people, is lawyers. My entire team, gone within the space of a year."

Pip sighed bitterly. "And that's the _best_ -case scenario. The worst? Not finding replacements _at all_. It takes time to recruit to the AST; I could be doing it by myself for months with just occasional help with the basics from a revolving pool of temps, while the hunt goes on for not one but _three_ people. Finding one person with the right kind of mind set, and skills to do what we do, is _hard_. Three at the same time?" She shook her head. "Impossible."

"You're brilliant at what you do. If anyone can manage either of those two extremes, it's you. You'll adapt," he reassured her.

Pip shrugged. "I'll have to, I know that. Doesn't mean I have to like it." She jutted her chin. "Since when was this conversation about me?"

For him, everything would always be about her. "Since I skilfully distracted you," Rossi said with a smug smile.

"Not so skilfully I didn't notice," she objected. "This one was tough," she said seriously. "It'll stay with you a while. Ones like this always will. You'll always wonder about the fish you can't quite catch today. We all do. Trick is not to let it change what you do tomorrow."

The look on her face told him that she hadn't always been able to do that herself. It was a long time before he fully understood why.

* * *

Pip offered to let him stay as he was leaving, letting him know that she understood how badly Alabama was still rattling around in his head. It would have been so easy to agree, to let himself take the physical comfort she was offering. He wouldn't be on the couch; he'd share her bed, albeit fully clothed. Since New York, that was how it was if he stayed overnight. Pip knew the value of not waking alone in the middle of the night, the reassurance a warm body next to you brought when the dreams were going to be bad. So, when they were, he'd stay. Sometimes for her comfort, sometimes for his. Just two friends sleeping together in the literal, rather than the carnal, sense.

It would have been so easy to agree, but he declined. Falling into her bed too regularly, as innocent as it was; would, for him at least, start them down a path she didn't want to travel. He'd get too used to waking up next to her, and when it inevitably had to end, it would break him.


	11. Zoe's Reprise (S4E15)

_Zoe's Reprise (S4E15)_

 _ **Of all the words of mice and men, the saddest are, "It might have been." - Kurt Vonnegut**_

He should have known his annual leave was doomed. The reason he had so much of it piled up was because something always came up that meant he had to go back to work. It wasn't a new experience; it had helped kill his first marriage and little had changed over the years. One way or another, there was always something that meant his downtime was cut short.

Still, Rossi had agreed to a book signing tour because it was an easy money earner and it kept his publisher happy, and more importantly, off his voicemail. But he'd been tired and cranky and he missed Pip, so when a young woman all but accosted him with her outlandish theory, he'd reverted to previous habits. He'd brushed her off in the classic fashion of David Rossi of old: condescending and brusque to the point of being obnoxiously rude. In other words, he'd been a complete jackass.

And she died.

JJ's admission that one of his books had inspired her to join the Bureau notwithstanding, the death of Zoe Hawkes weighed heavily on Rossi's mind. His books had helped inspire Olson too, and he'd all but told Zoe to keep digging until she found him. Hotch had told him not to personalise it, but that was impossible. Hours spent reading her notebooks and replaying his brief conversation with her in his head saw to that. The flight home felt cold, despite the balmy temperature of the jet.

* * *

Seeing Pip waiting for him warmed some of the ice that had formed around Rossi's heart in Oregon. She divested them of their paperwork and shooed Rossi off to his office.

"Give me five minutes with this lot and I'll be with you," she said, already flicking through the sheaf of field notes they'd generated.

Hotch cocked an amused eyebrow in his direction as Rossi meekly obeyed, and followed him up the ramp to his office.

"You two remind me of an old married couple," he commented, leaning himself in Rossi's doorway. Hotch looked back to the bullpen where Pip was now on the phone, probably with the airstrip. "She orders you about and you do it, you argue, you go out for dinner together, probably have long meaningful talks over drinks afterwards. But you're not…" He left the statement dangling.

Rossi knew what Hotch meant. "No. We're not."

"A relationship in all but name."

Rossi said nothing. What _could_ he say? He knew Hotch was right, he'd already had similar thoughts himself.

"Dave?" Rossi felt it as Hotch turned his assessing gaze from Pip to him, perched on the edge of his desk watching Pip work.

"What is it?" pressed Hotch when Rossi continued to stay silent. "Are you still beating yourself up over this case?"

Rossi's eyes didn't stray from Pip as he shook his head. He was, but that wasn't what was on his mind right now. "Aaron…" But he couldn't say it out loud, because that would make it too real.

"You want more," said Hotch smugly. "I _knew_ it." He paused. "But she doesn't?" he continued more sympathetically.

Rossi shook his head again. "No. And one day, when she finds someone, everything I've got will go away," he said quietly. "No man in her life would ever tolerate her friendship with me, it's far too close." He finally glanced in Hotch's direction and gave him a brief rueful smile. "I certainly wouldn't."

Hotch's dark eyes fixed on Rossi's own. "Dave, if there's one thing I've learned in this job, it's to enjoy what you have, while you have it. She doesn't want to take things any further, that's probably for the best. For both of you." A stern look underlined that, pointedly reiterating his previous statements about intimate relationships between team members. "But enjoy your friendship with her. Worry about the future when it happens."

Anything Rossi might have said to that vanished as Pip appeared in his doorway. "Sir, do you mind if we do our bit in the morning?" she asked Hotch, with a quick flick of the eyes in Rossi's direction.

Hotch's lips twitched in a miniature smile. "Go on, see if you can convince him that it wasn't his fault, because I can't." He nodded to Rossi and excused himself, making the most of being able to leave a little earlier than expected.

"You good to go?" asked Pip.

"Yeah, I think so," replied Rossi, feeling a little more settled over at least one of the things on his mind. Hotch was right: enjoy it while it lasted. Obsessing over the shape of an unknown future never helped anyone.

With that in mind, Rossi threw himself into their customary arguments over dinner, carefully avoiding anything related to the case. Tension he hadn't known existed fell away as they squabbled happily over the merits and otherwise of social media, public pay phones, and internet dating websites. Dessert brought up recipe disputes: did pineapple have a place on pizza? Did it really matter what flavour jelly you used in a PB&J? Was adding whipped cream to the ricotta in cannoli _actually_ heresy, or was it just a natural evolution thanks to the American sweet tooth? Rossi left the restaurant feeling happier than he had in days.

* * *

Rossi sat on her couch staring at his hands, idly spinning his FBI signet ring around on his finger. The quiet walk back to her place had allowed Zoe Hawkes to take up residence in his thoughts once more. His coffee sat untouched in front of him.

"You're very still this evening," Pip said eventually. She'd let him have his silence, somehow knowing that he needed some time.

Rossi just grunted in response. He wasn't quite ready.

"I say that because you're Italian," she commented, shuffling down the sofa to sit closer to him.

That caught his interest, despite the turmoil in his mind. "What does that have to do with anything?" he asked curiously.

"You're all the same. If I tied one hand behind your back they'd call it a speech impediment."

"Hey! Racial profiling!" he objected.

Pip giggled and Rossi followed her gaze to his hands, still frozen in mid-air from his gesticulation. "You may have a point," he conceded ruefully.

She grinned at him. "There's a reason you tend to shove your hands in your pockets if you're talking to a large crowd."

He nodded. "You know me too well." She did. Rossi had known that for a _long_ time.

"But tonight, I need you to actually _talk_ to me," Pip insisted, nudging his shoulder with hers. "You've barely moved since you sat down. Your body language usually shouts what you're thinking, or at least it does to me. This evening…I can't work you out, and that worries me."

"I basically taught him how to it."

Pip let her breath out in a long, deep sigh of understanding and fetched the whisky.

"Your books have taught a lot of people, a lot of things. Even me," she said, pouring them both a measure. She waved an expressive arm in the general direction of her longest bookshelf, where he knew every single one of his books rested. He'd signed them for her one evening, much to her amusement. "You can't blame yourself because some wackjob creepy uber-fan used your work, among others, to start himself down the serial killer road."

"He all but said that I gave him the idea." Rossi took a large sip of his whisky, relishing the burn it generated as it slid its way down. "Everything I wrote…I basically gave him a fucking manual."

"You think the guy that figured out electricity ever envisaged the state using it as an execution method?" Pip retorted. "High school chem texts give you basics of bomb-making. Putting information out there _doesn't_ make it your fault. And you're not the only author who writes books on serial killers, Dave. Hell, you're not even the only author whose books on the subject I own personally!"

That was all true, but still… "I told her to keep digging until she found the answers she was looking for," murmured Rossi. "I got her killed."

"No, you _didn't_ ," insisted Pip. "Her mother said she would have gone to that crime scene anyway, even if she hadn't been at your book signing and met you."

"I was really rude to her."

"Not exactly unheard of for you," disputed Pip with a teasing smirk, "but nothing you said would have changed her course of action," she added more seriously. "Her mom was quite clear about that."

So, she'd read enough of the field notes in the time he'd been talking with Hotch to figure out the bare bones of what bothered him most about Zoe's death. Her mother _had_ said that. He knew all that already, but it didn't help. He still felt responsible. How could he not, after that single disastrous interaction with her?

Rossi took another sip of the rather excellent whisky, wishing he was in the mood to appreciate it more. "I paid for her funeral. Her mom got angry with me, but I just wanted to…to help I suppose. Make it up to her somehow." Not that his charity had come even close to assuaging his guilt. Money couldn't solve everything.

Pip made a sympathetic noise and shifted so she could lay a hand on his arm. The muscles there tensed under her hand for a moment before relaxing. Rossi wished the rest of him would relax a bit more. "How much guilt are you carrying around?" she asked softly. "For all those you feel responsible for?"

"Too much," Rossi admitted. "I can't seem to stop. And that fucking psychic the other week…brought back all sorts of bad memories." He put down his tumbler and covered his eyes with a slightly unsteady hand as they started to sting. He'd been burned before, using psychics in investigations. People had _died_ while investigators chased vague leads provided by mystics who claimed they could "see", and he'd sworn never to entertain their like again.

Pip tightened her grip on him. "You care. That's not such a bad thing. The day you stop caring, stop being able to personalise it to some degree, that's the day you need to hang up your profiling hat. Then there's the other side: care too much and you end up like Gideon."

"I haven't spoken to Gideon in a long time," said Rossi, desperate to change the subject. He turned his head to give his eyes a surreptitious wipe.

Pip glanced away, giving him a moment's privacy to do so. "Me either."

"How well did you know him?" he asked, once he'd composed himself. He glanced curiously over at her when she was slow to respond.

Pip looked wistful. Gideon had made his mark on her too, it seemed. "He gave me my job in the BAU," she said softly. "Actually, he recruited me while I was still in a physio rehab centre in Chicago. Said something about _all_ of my skills being needed, as if he knew where I'd been before." Pip rolled her eyes. "He probably did. There was a man who played his cards close to the vest."

That much was certainly true. Gideon was an enigma, always had been, despite how close he and Rossi had become.

Pip took a deep breath before continuing. "He told me I could use my time in the BAU to recuperate, but I think he knew I'd stay. He had this way of looking at you…like he knew where you'd be in five years, even if you had no idea."

Rossi nodded. "Yes. I know that look well." His mind latched onto the "before" she mentioned. It was the second time he'd had a clear hint of her working life before the Bureau, instead of vagueness that could mean anything. It was something she kept shrouded from him, despite their closeness.

"He helped me through addiction to the pills they prescribed after I got shot," continued Pip. "I still go to NA meetings, usually once a month or so, just to keep my face known and remind myself how far I've come. Sitting there telling the story always makes me think of him." She smiled absently. "He even bought me a cane to stop me lurching about quite so much in the early days. It's still around here somewhere. It's beautiful, I don't know where he got it. Just the right height for me, shortass that I am, with a bird's head for the handle. He did love his birds. I miss him," she added.

"Would you rather he hadn't left?" Rossi asked curiously. Gideon's departure and his own subsequent return from retirement was something that had dramatically shifted the balance of the BAU, and not just for the profilers.

"No," was Pip's quick reply. "Once the job breaks you, that's it. It was time, for him, even if I am still furious about the way he left." She looked over at him. "Of the two of you, I'd rather have you. I miss him, but you're much better company. His handwriting was nigh on illegible, not that yours is _that_ much better; and he never saved me from the spiders that seem to gravitate in my direction. Said it was character building for to deal with them myself. Complete bullshit, I'm still terrified of them."

"They're much more scared of you, than you are of them."

Pip snorted in amusement. "One of my foster-sisters used to say that. I'll say the same to you as I said to her: I seriously fucking doubt it."

Rossi chuckled. "You do seem to get more than your fair share." He'd "rescued" Pip from multiple spiders in the time they'd known each other. Anything larger than her thumbnail made her shriek and break out in a cold sweat.

"I live on the third floor, in what once was the attic. They probably migrate home in the mating season or something," said Pip sulkily.

Rossi smirked. "That's frogs and toads. And birds, salmon, wildebeest, zebra, even some butterflies. Not sure about spiders."

"Perhaps it's Todd and Leon smoking downstairs. Maybe spiders don't like being stoned?"

"So, they all escape up here to be with you? Maybe they look on you as a roommate," he teased. "It's really mean of you to keep getting them evicted," he added mock-sternly.

"Or maybe they can sense fear like dogs and do it just to be vindictive," she retorted. "I woke up last night and there was one _on my pillow_. Leon came up from downstairs because he thought I was being murdered."

Rossi laughed, feeling better. It was a skill of hers. She'd make him laugh, usually at her own expense, and whatever he was agonising over would seem less heavy, less oppressive. It was also reassuring to know that her downstairs neighbours, stoners that they were, would come up to make sure she was alright if they heard something untoward.

"Of course the old dear on the ground floor never heard me," continued Pip, "but I doubt she's heard _anything_ since 1804, woman's older than dirt, I'm sure of it." She wrinkled her nose. "Suppose I should be glad really, she smells awful."

Rossi had to agree. Dorothy Crabbtree did smell quite bad. He had a sensitive sense of smell and if pressed, he wasn't sure he could decide which smelt worse: Mrs Crabbtree or the frequently incontinent yappy little ankle biter she kept as a pet. It wasn't a proper dog, Rossi was sure of it. If Mudgie ever met it, he'd probably try and snap it's neck like the rat it appeared to be.

"I met Mark's replacement yesterday. Jackson Phillips," said Pip when their laughter faded. "Starts next Monday. Seemed like a decent guy I guess."

"But?"

She glared at him, before huffing. "I have some concerns."

"About him? You think he won't be able to do what you need?" Her team was specialised, if she was going to end up with someone unsuitable, it would only make her, and by extension, the team's life more difficult. That was the _last_ thing any of them needed.

"Well, that's not it exactly," Pip replied slowly, after some thought. "Actually, I got lucky with his appointment, he's well-qualified. He isn't a young graduate, he's a former sergeant from San Francisco PD medically discharged after an injury. I won't have to teach him how the world works, just how the Bureau and the BAU works. I think he'll be perfect to hold the logistics desk."

"What then?"

"My concerns are about _Amber_. He's a fit, lean, African-American ex-cop with a cheeky smile, and a familiar accent from home. Just her type." Pip raised her eyes to the ceiling as if seeking strength from the rafters. "I'm worried I won't get any work out of her that doesn't need correcting for a few months. He has the look of a serial womaniser." Pip paused to look significantly in Rossi's direction, an action that made him duck his head in embarrassed acknowledgement of her knowledge of his past behaviour. "Keeping them apart could be problematic."

"Ah, young love," he said jokily, chuckling as Pip threw a cushion at him. "You kept both Amber and Mark on short leashes before, I'm sure you'll manage one more," he reassured her. "Maybe it will encourage Amber finally make the move to Agent. Problem solved."

"And a whole new one created," she groused. " _Not_ helping."

Rossi laughed. "She's going to do it sooner or later. I can see it now too. Now you pointed it out, it's hard to miss. Maybe you'll get lucky with the recruitment and then you'll have two new people at the same time. It'll be easier to train two together, rather than get one up and running and then have to start all over again."

"You could be right I suppose," agreed Pip reluctantly, as if unwilling to let go of her worst-case scenario.

"Had to happen sometime."

They shared a smile.

* * *

Later, when Pip asked if he wanted to stay, Rossi agreed, Hotch's words reverberating in his head. _Enjoy it while it lasts._ He had every intention of doing so.


	12. Demonology (S4E17)

_Demonology (S4E17)_

 _ **Authentic religion is not a theology test. It's a love test - Oliver Thomas**_

From what Rossi could see, Phillips settled in without too much drama. He could also see the looks Amber cast in the new guy's direction, and he and Pip shared many an amused smirk at their expense. It was something of a pleasure to see her smug grin as she revelled in being right, despite the problems it caused. Phillips seemed to have real difficulties in keeping his hands off his colleague, something Amber thoroughly encouraged, despite Pip's efforts.

He took _no_ pleasure in seeing look on Pip's face the day Amber handed in her notice. From the vantage point his office offered him, Rossi could tell what had happened, even before Pip had a chance to share the bad news. The fixed expression had said it all. Knowing it was coming hadn't helped soften the blow in the slightest, and it was clear Pip was utterly devastated. She and Amber had worked together for nearly four years, and given her loathing of change, losing Amber in a personal as well as professional capacity was always going to hit her hard.

As soon as he was able, Rossi pulled Pip into a hug, letting her bury her face in his shoulder. He'd found her hiding behind a row of filing cabinets in lieu of actual privacy, furiously wiping her eyes.

"Dinner?" he whispered into her hair.

Pip nodded against him and pulled away, just as Hotch rounded the corner. They were a respectable distance apart, but Hotch's expression told Rossi he knew exactly what they'd been doing. He gave them an assessing look, noting the wateriness of Pip's eyes, before inclining his head to indicate the door. Gratefully, Rossi steered Pip away, out into the corridor and downstairs in search of some fresh air.

When Pip just stood outside taking deep breaths, Rossi put his arm around her, feeling the vibrating tension in her body. "Hey, just me here, no one else. No one can see us. Let it go," he encouraged. Pip turned to him and he enveloped her in his arms. "Let it out," he whispered, and closed his eyes in real pain at the howl of anguish she muffled with his jacket. Her birthday was approaching, and Amber leaving wasn't the only thing that fuelled that heart-breaking cry.

It took longer than he'd hoped to calm her, Rossi suspected she'd been hanging on to the possibility that she'd been wrong, that they both had. That Amber wouldn't really leave, or at least not yet. Collier had already set a date for her retirement – Pip's worst-case timeline was looking fairly accurate after all, and he knew she was stressed over the prospect of guiding not one but three new staff in the ways of the BAU.

* * *

Phillips got his first taste of the weird and wonderful that was the BAU as Emily dragged them into a new investigation, practically kicking and screaming in Morgan's case. Rossi knew there was something more personal about this particular case for Emily, not just her friendship with the victim, and made it his business to find out. Emily desperately needed to tell someone the backstory, and being the first to notice that, he took it upon himself to offer a shoulder to lean on.

It was bad enough that exorcisms were involved, but what she'd been through also cut him deeply. Standing in that muddy lot as Emily bared her soul, reminded him of Pip tonelessly telling him how her ability to bear children had been ripped away by weapons fire. The hesitations and lack of tears made it eerily similar, and he had to admire them both for their strength. Lesser people would have broken under the strain.

It was a case that would stay with Emily a while, losing a friend, especially in such circumstances. It would stick with him too, if only for the questions and doubts that grew and seeded others. He was Italian, so of course he was Catholic. He'd never questioned it before, even when James had died. But the fervour with which the parents had believed that what they were doing was _right_ , that their mentally ill son had been possessed, had really shaken him. Rossi watched Emily walk away into the swirling snow and made his way back to the car, grateful that he had Pip to turn to.

* * *

Dinner was a quiet affair, both of them a little lost in their own thoughts. They made an effort to start a dispute over baseball, but somehow everything they said ended up creeping too close to what was on their minds. Amber leaving. Emily. Margaret leaving. His religious doubts. Her birthday, looming on the horizon like a dark storm cloud. Somehow, leaving the restaurant in search of coffee on her sofa felt like an escape.

Pip sloshed a generous shot into each mug as she put them down on the table. "Figured it's one of those nights," she muttered.

Rossi grunted an appreciative noise and took a deep mouthful of the liquid that was now technically more whisky than coffee.

"What's going on in your head, Dave?" she asked when the silence between them stretched on too long. "You know what's bothering _me_."

"Not my story to tell." What was going through his mind was more about Emily than anything else, something deeply personal and intimate and he wouldn't break her confidence. He knew Pip would understand and respect that, without demanding any further explanation of who and why.

"Fair enough," she said easily, proving him right once more. "But apart from the bit that belongs to someone else, what's got that crease in your brow so deep this evening?"

Rossi sighed and put down his rather alcoholic coffee. "A religious crisis, I suppose."

"Oh!" cried Pip, waving her hands in a frantically apologetic warding-off gesture. "Oh no. I'm sorry, I really am, but I'm completely the wrong person for this. Seriously, I am the _last_ person who'd be able to help you struggle with your beliefs."

Religion had never been part of their debates, something he really hadn't noticed until then.

"You're not much one for faith I take it?"

"Huh. Watching my parents being killed right in front of me and then nearly nine years in foster care pretty much cured me of religion, I'm afraid," Pip said bitterly. "Tell people there's an invisible man in the sky who created the universe and the vast majority of people will believe you. Tell them the paint is wet, and they have to touch it to be sure. I don't have enough faith in _humanity_ to spare any for a deity of some form."

Rossi had no response to that. When he didn't reply, she pulled him sideways, turning him so his back was against her chest. "Lie down. My mom used to do this when I was little, whenever I couldn't relax enough to sleep."

Rossi drew his feet up on the sofa and let her shuffle around behind him so he was laid against her more fully.

"I can't offer any useful insight about your religious doubts, but what _can_ I do to help?" she asked softly, running her hands gently through his hair. Rossi practically melted against her.

"Just talk to me," he mumbled. And not stop doing that with your hands. Ever.

"What about?"

"Anything." He just wanted to hear the sound of her voice. "How did you and Ian meet?"

Her hands paused, before slowly resuming. "Why would you want to know about that?" she asked carefully.

Because her birthday was only just around the corner and he needed to know if there were any more unknowns, any other minefields about _that day_ that he needed to navigate. He was sure there was something, some extra detail she'd never mentioned that he'd run headlong into at some point, wittingly or otherwise.

And because he wanted to know what he was up against. To know if her heart was still reserved for Ian, to the exclusion of all others.

Not that he'd ever be able to say any of that.

"Because you never talk about him," Rossi said instead, "and because it's part of who you are, a part I don't know."

She was silent for a while, long enough that he wondered if he'd pushed too hard, so close to the anniversary of Ian's death.

"I'm not sure you would have liked him," she said eventually. "At least, not straight away. I _certainly_ didn't. First time we met, I was in my final few weeks at the Academy; he was attending an advanced explosives course. You know the ones, Quantico host them for various agencies, they vary in length from days to three or four weeks." Rossi nodded against her hands. "He was already ATF, a rising star. A jock: tall, fit, good looking, a complete dick." She chuckled lightly. "He turned up one morning when I was out running, demanding to know who Harker was because he wanted to beat his score on the shooting range. Then he was there the next day, and the next, every time with the same question. I'll give him his credit; he actually got close to my score once or twice." He could hear the smile in her voice. "Impressive considering how much practice I've had."

"Didn't you tell him it was you?" asked Rossi, desperately fighting to keep his eyelids from slipping closed.

"Eventually. After he'd stopped bugging me about who Harker was and started bugging me to go on a date with him instead. He knew me as Flip, same as the rest of my class." Pip laughed softly. "I always hated that nickname; I guess that's why it stuck. It never occurred to him that P. Harker and Flip were one and the same. Doesn't bode well for deductive abilities of the ATF, right?"

Rossi just hummed in agreement, having lost the battle to keep his eyes open.

"We were an unlikely pair," continued Pip, "I mean, he was being chased by just about every straight female I knew, and a fair selection of the guys too. Me? I'm short, no great beauty and I've got a smart mouth that frequently gets me into trouble. Add to that an attitude and enough emotional baggage to start my own luggage carousel, and it looked like a match made in hell. Not to mention I hated being persistently pursued like that." Pip sighed as Rossi turned that little jewel of information over, examining it. Something to keep in mind.

"Somehow, and I still don't know how, we just clicked," she went on. "Of course, we thought we were in love. We'd go running together, to the firing range together. He finished the course he was on, but he came back for my graduation. He gave me his number, made me promise to keep in touch." Pip snorted. "That lasted about three weeks. My first posting was the Montana field office, where the locals _hated_ us; in the meantime, he was in Mexico working with the Federales." She paused. "We both put work first, despite how fun it had been, and we lost touch."

"Next time?" Rossi managed drowsily. They'd obviously re-connected at some stage.

"Years later, we bump into each other at some fundraising dinner or other and fall in love all over again," said Pip. "We'd both settled into our respective careers by then, so when we told each other we'd make it work, we meant it. And we did. It didn't matter that my hours were weird and all over the country, because so were his. I don't think we were ever posted in the same city until…until Chicago. But we made it work, for nearly three years. Weekends, quick holidays when we could coordinate our leave. We both became expert in the red eye flight scene." Pip chuckled. "One time, I flew all the way from Seattle to Austin, just to have dinner with him because it had been a month since we'd last laid eyes on each other. Video calls just aren't the same. We ate, had a wonderful walk along the Colorado River and then I got back on a plane to Seattle." She sniggered. "There may also have been a quickie over a park bench that could have got us both fired for lewd behaviour, if we'd been caught."

She fell quiet for a moment, still running her hands through his hair. Rossi was nearly asleep, lulled by her soothing motions and the sound of her voice.

"I loved him. And I miss him. Probably always will, I doubt I'll find anyone else who'll put up with me for any great length of time. Sorry Dave, I think you're stuck with my dubious company."

"Fine with me, _bella_ ," he mumbled. "Longer the better."

Pip huffed, a quiet snort of laughter. "Go to sleep, you're obviously delirious."

"'M not."

"Sleep," she ordered, pressing a fleeting kiss to the top of his head. Her hands kept running through his hair and Rossi obeyed, succumbing to a deep and dreamless sleep he never would have achieved if he'd been alone.

He awoke in the early hours of the morning, initially confused. Waking in her tiny apartment was no longer surprising, but waking on her sofa was. He turned his head slightly, only to realise he was using Pip as his pillow, his head cushioned by her breasts. Her hands were splayed protectively across his chest. Pip hummed in her sleep as he shifted onto his side and pulled her down level with him, but they were both so used to sharing a bed as they slept that she didn't wake. Throwing caution to the wind, he wrapped his arms around her, drawing her closer. Rossi smiled, just enjoying holding her. The smile remained even as he drifted back to sleep.


	13. Omnivore (S4E18)

_Omnivore (S4E18)_

 _ **People trust their eyes above all else - but most people see what they wish to see, or what they believe they should see; not what is really there - Zoë Marriott**_

Pip waded into his office with a frown on her face, bottom lip caught firmly between her teeth. "There's something going on in Boston."

"What do you mean?" asked Rossi, looking up from his paperwork.

Pip closed the door behind her and sat down in front of his desk, rather than leaning against his shelving like she usually did. "I'm worried about Agent Hotchner," she said. "I just booked a round trip flight for him to Boston and cheap hire car, all at his own expense, like he asked me to. There was just this… _look_ on his face. I don't know, I just…" Pip shrugged. "He asked me to pull this and keep it handy. I thought you ought to take a look." She handed him a bulging file. "It looks like he's been working on it on and off for years. Somehow, this…this is important to him, and I know nothing about it. I can't help."

Rossi leafed through it briefly. "1998. The Reaper. He stopped before he was caught, wasn't he?" he mused.

Pip hummed in agreement. "From what I understand, yes. It was Agent Hotchner's first case as lead profiler. Before my time here."

"So what's going on?"

"I don't know. I have _absolutely_ no idea," she huffed, frustration clear. "That's what bothers me. Normally I have a good handle on whatever he's working on, it's my job to know." Pip bit her lip again. "I'm worried about him," she repeated.

Rossi knew Pip was intensely loyal to Hotch, so the expression on her face had him a little on edge. That she'd cross those bounds of loyalty to bring this to him, spoke of the gravity of her concerns. He took another look at the file in front of him and nodded. Something about Hotch's manner had freaked her out a little, and he felt it would be wise to heed that warning. "I'll keep an eye on him."

Pip let out a sigh and some of the tension in her body language eased. "Thank you."

"When do you need this back?" he asked, gesturing at the file. What time was Hotch expected back, in other words.

Pip nodded in thanks of his understanding of what she was doing, going behind Hotch's back like this. "Before you leave?"

* * *

Pip's concerns realised themselves the following day. Hotch had returned from Boston quieter and obviously troubled by something. It was like waiting for lightning to hit, because Hotch obviously knew something was coming, and soon. In a way, it was a relief not to have to wait long. Rossi didn't see the conversation that started it, but he heard Hotch grabbing his effects in a hurry through the thin partition wall they shared and knew it was time.

Rossi made it to the walkway in time to see Hotch have a quick silent conversation with Pip across the bullpen, while still talking to JJ, then dart for the door. Pip caught Rossi's gaze and jerked her head after Hotch's retreating back. "Jet," she mouthed to him, then grabbed her phone and started dialling. Rossi retreated back into his office just long enough to grab his go-bag. If Hotch was going to Boston, they all were.

It was cold in Boston. Massachusetts in March was supposed to be warmer, Rossi was sure of it. Maybe it wasn't the weather than had him feeling so cold. The Reaper was back, after ten years of waiting, of tormenting Shaunessy. The old cop's death renewed the cycle, and the only reason they knew where to start was because Hotch had never left the case alone, as Pip had said.

There was more to it than that though, Rossi could see Hotch was taking this one personally. The bitterness and self-recrimination he displayed at the second crime scene, the frustration that he hadn't gotten any closer to the killer in the intervening years bubbling over. All Rossi could do was reassure him that his work would help them. That because of Hotch, they had a profile already, something to start with.

The bus shooting was a massacre and this time, the self-recrimination came with a sheen to Hotch's eyes that spoke of emotion Rossi knew he had to halt in its tracks, and quickly. Before Hotch buckled under the weight of his own condemnation. The Reaper had called Hotch, offered him the same deal that had tortured Shaunessy. Hotch had hung up on him, and clearly blamed himself for the Reaper's outburst.

Deciding logic wasn't going to get him anywhere, Rossi tried harsh words instead, trying to jar Hotch out of his mood. It worked, after a fashion, Rossi ruthlessly targeting Hotch's ego and offering him his gun to shoot himself with.

"You can put that away," said Hotch, a tiny smile appearing.

"You sure?"

"It's a little dramatic, don't you think?" asked Hotch as they walked away.

"My wife always said I had a flair for the dramatic," agreed Rossi with a smile. Pip said it too, and coming from her, it was practically a professional opinion.

"Which one?"

Rossi chuckled. "All of them." Including the one he rather hoped one day to convince to be the fourth and final Mrs Rossi.

He finally got a laugh, which was his intent, even if it was at his own expense.

* * *

Realising just how well Foyet had played them all was infuriating, even if they did catch him in the end. Rossi was still annoyed with himself as they flew home. He'd been in the same room, within _a few inches_ of the Reaper, and had never known it.

Pip and Phillips were waiting for them as they arrived back, casually handing out sheafs of paperwork to each member of the team as they passed. With only the pair of them to run AST while Collier used up her remaining leave to end her time in the Bureau, they'd taken to handing out report forms as the team landed, rather than just leaving the Agents to collect them themselves.

"I've got an hour's work to do before I can leave, go make yourself useful," muttered Pip quietly as she handed Rossi his pile. "Do me a favour and sit with Agent Hotchner for a bit. Have a coffee and chuck in some of that scotch I know you've got in your desk drawer for good measure."

"I'm fine," muttered Rossi sharply. "Thanks for asking. Nice to see you too."

Pip gave him a level stare. "For that, you can pay tonight," she said, raising an eyebrow.

Rossi frowned. "Don't be stupid!" he snapped forcefully, while still trying to keep his voice down. "It's my turn anyway."

Pip shrugged and smirked knowingly. "Oh well. At least now you've done something to deserve it." She turned away from him with a wink. "Doctor Reid! A word?"

"Uh, what did I do now?" asked Reid nervously.

"Step into my office if you would," said Pip with a grin, indicating the vacant desk next to hers. She thumped down a report as thick as a telephone directory in front of him as he sat down. "I'd like to discuss the word "brevity" and how it pertains to certain aspects of my role here…"

Rossi coughed to cover the involuntary snort of laughter and Pip caught his eye over Reid's shoulder. She gave him a one-shouldered shrug as if to say "mission accomplished" before turning her attention back to Reid.

She'd provoked him deliberately, providing him a pressure valve to bark at someone who wouldn't take it the wrong way, and then made him laugh. If it was possible to love her even more, Rossi thought he now did.

Feeling a little better, he did as she'd suggested, just sitting idly with Hotch in his office, both nursing a heavily doctored cup of coffee. Silently sharing their mutual commiseration for not seeing Foyet for what he was sooner. Before so many more people died.

Until JJ burst in. "Foyet escaped."

The look Hotch exchanged with him said it all. Hotch wasn't surprised in the least, and once Rossi thought about it, neither was he. A man so meticulous in all his actions, Foyet had probably planned his escape long in advance.

They followed JJ quickly along the walkway as she explained what Foyet had done, and that the US Marshalls had essentially brushed off her offer of their help. Reid's information that Foyet had plans for the utility ducts for every prison in Massachusetts just confirmed Hotch's worst fears, if the glare he threw at the tv was anything to go by. He was so sure Foyet wouldn't be found, and if Rossi was right, he blamed himself for that in some twisted way too.

Hotch banished Rossi from his office when he tried to speak to him about that, after the initial furore had died down. Their now-cold coffees still sat on his desk, along with Rossi's bottle of scotch. Resigned to the fact that Hotch wanted to deal with this in his own way, Rossi decided he would do the same, in his. He collared Pip and told her quite firmly that they were leaving. The paperwork could wait.

* * *

Rossi toyed with his food, absently dredging the same piece of pasta through the sauce over and over again.

"I sat in the same room as him and I never realised he was our UnSub." There was a beat of silence and Rossi looked up, knowing he'd broken the unwritten rule. The one that said work got left at the restaurant door, even if that meant they had to pick it up again on their way out. He just couldn't hold it back any longer.

Pip looked at him sympathetically, although that could have been for the nearly full plate of cold food in front of him.

"Neither did Agent Hotchner." In her odd way, that was high praise from Pip, considering how much she thought of Hotch.

"He seemed really broken up over the death of his girlfriend," said Rossi disgustedly. "Frightened. I felt _sorry_ for the guy," he spat.

Empathy with the UnSub to get inside their head and predict their actions was one thing. To get played so well so as to feel genuine emotion towards them, was quite another. Foyet had him doubting his ability as a profiler, as an agent of the FBI.

"So did Agent Hotchner," sighed Pip. "So did _everyone_ , Dave. All of us, even the ones back in Quantico just reading about it. He hid well, not well enough in the end, you caught him…"

"And then he got away," interrupted Rossi forcefully. "He _knew_ we'd catch him eventually and he anticipated accordingly. Someone with that level of planning..." he shook his head. "We won't see him again until he wants us to." He threw his fork down with a clatter. "Damn!" Rossi lent one elbow on the table and held his head in frustration.

Pip stood and put on her coat. "Come on, were going home." She pulled out her purse, counted out a handful of bills as she did some mental arithmetic and put the money down on the table. "There, that should cover it, and it's not like they don't know who we are if I'm a couple of dollars short."

"It's supposed to be my turn," disputed Rossi. Leaving didn't seem like such a bad idea, it wasn't like he was actually hungry; but she'd paid last time they'd gone out.

Pip cocked her head. "True, but I'm the only one who's actually eaten anything," she said with a pointed look at his plate. "Come on. Let's take this home." She held out her hand.

He didn't need asking again. Rossi took her hand and let her lead him away.

To Rossi's confusion, Pip made a secretive stop in a store on the way home and then refused to show him the contents of the grocery bag. She parked him on the sofa with strict instructions not to move and disappeared into the kitchen, bag still in hand. She rummaged about for a few minutes before there was a muffled splat and a curse.

"You ok?" Rossi called.

"Yeah," she called back. "Just…oh bugger…" There was a clatter and a soft thud.

"Pip?"

"Yeah, yeah, all good," she replied, then only a moment later, "oh, for fuck's sake…" Another clatter and rustling sounds ensued. "Damn, I've got to…" Pip let out a startled squeak. "Fuck, that's cold!" There was another soft thud.

"Pip? You alright?" By then, Rossi had stood and taken several concerned steps towards the kitchen.

"Told you stay put," said Pip with a smile as she emerged from the kitchen with two big bowls of ice cream, decorated with what looked like raspberry sauce, sprinkles _and_ marshmallows. "Go, on take a pew. This is going to be worth it."

Rossi sat back down. "What was all that about in there?"

"I should have let it warm up a bit first," replied Pip, "First spoonful sort of went boing when the spoon ricocheted." She shrugged with a sunny smile. "I needed a new toaster anyway."

"You got ice cream in the toaster?" asked Rossi in disbelief, a smile starting to form.

"Go look for yourself if you like," she said dismissively, handing him his bowl and sitting down. "Stuff like that happens to me _all_ the time. Honestly, you couldn't make it up. I can put something down on a perfectly flat surface and watch it just..." she gestured with her spoon, "…roll away. Last night? I dropped a bag of groceries on the front walk, the only thing I _didn't_ break was the eggs. I get the whole soggy mess up here, set the eggs aside while I cleaned up and when I sat down, I sat on the eggs."

Rossi broke into laughter, putting the bowl of ice cream down before he dropped it.

"This morning," Pip continued, as she took off her shoes, "my kitchen floor grabbed my sock off my foot because I'd missed a patch of honey and it got stuck as I walked over it. There's still a strip of black fluff out there because I was running so late, all I could do was rip it up in a hurry and put it back on." She held up one foot to show him her still slightly sticky sock.

Rossi was crying with mirth as Pip went on. "I put the milk in the dishwasher instead of the fridge because I was in such a flap, so it's coffee with creamer or black tomorrow morning. Found this morning's mug in the freezer when I went to put the ice cream away, don't know what the fuck I was thinking there, and then I had to throw out a bag of peas to fit the ice cream in. Managed to drop two down my bra while doing so," she added. "I did find them, by the way, if you were wondering. Left cup." She grinned and rolled her eyes with a theatrical sigh. "Welcome to my life."

"Mercy!...oh, mercy," gasped Rossi, clutching his sides. When was the last time he'd laughed until it hurt? Too long ago, that was for sure. He wiped his streaming eyes. "Only you, Pip. It could only happen to you…oh dear…" he started chuckling again.

Pip smiled at him. "That's better. I hate seeing you look so down over something. If I can make you laugh, it's a start." She nudged his shoulder. "Eat your ice cream, that helps too," she added in a conspiratorial whisper.

Oddly enough, it did. Or maybe it was her company. Rossi slept easy that night, Pip sprawled next to him, one arm draped over his chest.


	14. A Shade of Grey (S4E21)

_A Shade of Grey (S4E21)_

 _ **Secrets have a way of making themselves felt, even before you know there's a secret - Jean Ferris**_

Computers were not his forte; Rossi would be the first to admit that. And yet, despite his technological ineptitude, he had managed to find out who Damon was. Completely behind Pip's back, and with no outside help. It had taken him a while, and far more time and effort than it would have taken Garcia; but doing it his way meant there was no danger of his name crossing Garcia's lips in anything other than a professional capacity to her friend. Worth every quietly hissed curse thrown at his computer over the weeks it had taken him.

Finding the creep's identity didn't give him any satisfaction, however.

"Damon" was ex-con Damon Alexander McGill, originally from Baltimore. A bit younger than Pip at thirty-five, with a long rap sheet of Drunk & Disorderly and Assault charges, mixed in with a smattering of petty thefts as a teenager. Currently of no fixed abode, with no job or other obvious means of support. Fired from his last employment as a car mechanic in Woodbridge for drinking on the job, around the same time he'd last turned up at Pip's front door. He was a violent drunkard on his second strike who should have landed himself in far bigger trouble already. Any other useful details currently eluded Rossi's mediocre digital skills. Bar one.

He was out on bail.

It had taken him a moment to fully comprehend that. Rossi remembered Pip telling him that Damon had swung at a cop and was facing charges for assaulting the officer. She was convinced at the time that Damon wouldn't make bail. She'd _certainly_ never mentioned that he had, and she would have known that Damon was free, and potentially able to come after her again.

She'd kept it from him, and that made Rossi _furious_.

He stormed through the bullpen, scattering people from his path. Even Hotch had taken one look at his murderous expression and retreated back into his office.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Rossi snapped angrily, brandishing McGill's charge sheet in Pip's face.

Pip looked up at him, then at Philips, who was watching the two of them with great interest.

"Something I can help you with, Agent Rossi?" she asked in a steely voice that dripped with contempt.

Some small morsel of sanity and logical thought returned, and Rossi realised that accosting her in front of her subordinate in the middle of the bullpen probably wasn't the best way to have this discussion.

"My office, Harker. Now!" he barked.

The glare she gave him matched his own, but Pip followed him back to his office without further comment.

"Just where do you get off, talking to me like that in front of Phillips?" she asked angrily, once she'd slammed his office door shut behind them. "I rely on his respect, and what you just did…"

"Damon McGill," interrupted Rossi. That shut her up instantly, Pip's mouth closing with a snap. It would have been satisfying if that hadn't just confirmed she'd kept it from him deliberately. "Why didn't you tell me he got out on bail?" he hissed.

"You went digging, didn't you?" Pip asked through clenched teeth. "Behind my back, after I _explicitly_ told you not to."

"Yes. I did," he admitted evenly. He wasn't sorry. Damon was dangerous, Damon was a threat to her safety and Damon was _free_.

"What for?" she cried. "I told you I'd handle him; I don't need your help!"

"I disagree," replied Rossi. "I think…"

"I don't give _a flying fuck_ what you think!" roared Pip. "It's none of your business! I don't want you involved, I tell you I don't want you involved and then you go and stick your nose in anyway! Does what I want mean _nothing_ to you?" She threw her hands up in the air. "Urgh, what _is_ it with you? Your ego's the size of fucking _Alaska!_ I called you a hero once, _once_ , for dealing with a _spider_ , for fuck's sake, and now you want to rescue me from something I've already dealt with!"

"Pip, I'm your friend…" he started.

"Well then _act_ like it," she retorted coldly, somehow sounding even more threatening than when she'd been shouting. "I told you to leave it alone." The glare she levelled at him was like a thermic lance. "Try acting a bit more professionally while we're at work too." Pip shook her head. "D'you know what? I can't talk to you right now. I don't even want to see your face."

She turned for the door and Rossi made one last attempt to talk to her.

"Pip…"

Pip spun back to fix him again with that glare, but she'd upped the ferocity behind it. If looks could kill, he'd have been laminated across the wall, reduced to a stain for Janitorial to wipe up. He'd never seen her this angry. Rossi was distantly aware that he didn't want his last thought to be _fuck me, she's scary_ , and took an unconscious backwards step, as if that would save him.

"Fuck you, Rossi! Fuck you _and_ the horse you rode in on!" she spat venomously. "Now listen carefully," she said, in a low, dangerous growl, "because apparently, you struggled with this first time around. _I said_ , I don't want to speak to you."

She slammed the door hard as she left, leaving it shuddering in its frame. Rossi threw himself into his chair and stared disconsolately at his desk.

"Well, that could have gone better," he muttered to himself. "Well done, Dave old boy. Fucked that _right_ up, didn't you?"

He looked up warily as the door opened again, wondering for a moment if Pip had come back for a second round.

"Should I alert the morgue to receive a body?" asked Hotch. He looked concerned, despite the attempt at humour.

Rossi sighed. "I can't guarantee it, but I think I'm probably safe."

Hotch smiled briefly, closing the door behind him. "I'm not so sure about that, from what I know of her that isn't classified. Dave, you do know the wall we share isn't even remotely soundproof, don't you?"

Rossi's heart sank. Hotch had heard everything. He shook his head. "Actually, no, I didn't."

Hotch frowned. "You're being a little over protective, don't you think? She's right, it _is_ under control, and the way you acted wasn't _at all_ appropriate for the office. She has every right to file an Unprofessional Conduct complaint, should she wish to."

" _You_ knew about McGill?" asked Rossi, completely stunned and more than a little annoyed. She'd told _Hotch_ , but not him? Loyalty was one thing, but he knew more about her than Hotch, surely?

Hotch looked at him critically. "I'm her supervisor, Dave," he said slowly, as if it should be obvious. "I was informed by Alexandria PD there was an open case with links to one of my team, and they update me when appropriate. The rest is up to her to share." Hotch gave him a stern glance. "Or not."

It rankled, but in the face of Hotch's disapproval, Rossi just nodded his acceptance. "You don't think she was being unreasonable?" he asked tentatively.

"She has her reasons, but maybe a little," agreed Hotch. "However, I also think you earned it. You always knew you'd be playing with fire, and I would have thought it obvious that underhand tactics will _never_ work with her."

Rossi frowned at Hotch's retreating back as he turned to leave, but didn't say anything. Hotch didn't know her like he did. He'd talk to Pip, explain his concerns. Just as soon as he worked out a way for that to happen that didn't involve her throwing things at him first.

"Oh, and Dave?" said Hotch, pausing with his hand on the door handle. "Act that way on Bureau time again, and I'll start the Unprofessional Conduct reprimand myself." He left Rossi in his office, thinking furiously.

Dealing with the fallout from his row with Pip had to wait; an Amber Alert in New Jersey meant a race to find a young boy, possibly the third in a series of child abduction and murders in the Cherry Hill area. Rossi tried to catch Pip's eye as the team filed out in the direction of the jet, but she caught the direction of his glance and deliberately turned her back to him.

That hurt more than anything she could have said.

* * *

The New Jersey case ran the gamut of tragedy. Three dead boys, two of them molested, and a budding child sociopath who'd killed his own brother. The child the grieving parents had tried to save was already beyond saving, and had been long before the team even left Quantico. The only silver lining of the whole trip had been catching the paedophile who'd killed the first two boys, but even that was small comfort.

For the first time in months, flying home brought Rossi no solace. He knew there would be no Italian meal that night, no spirited discussions over wine to ease his soul. She would have gone home at the first opportunity available in order to avoid him, had probably deferred the work she needed to do with Hotch until the morning. Feeling particularly bereft, Rossi used the flight time to think. Leaning back in his seat with his eyes closed and hands folded across his stomach in the pretence of sleep, he replayed the argument with Pip in his head.

She'd asked him not to get involved, and then he'd done so anyway. Rossi supposed he could see why she'd been angry with him. She was wilfully independent and made it clear she was dealing with "Damon the Dick", as he called him in the privacy of his own thoughts, thanks to Amber. He'd interfered with the best of intentions, only wishing to help, to be supportive of whatever she was going through; but had evidently gone about it the wrong way. Pip's temper was legendary and he'd put himself directly in the firing line.

On top of that, he'd brought it to work, shouted at her in his office. The lines between work and personal lives were there for a reason, and he'd crossed them. Again. Obviously, his old habits were harder to break than he thought.

And now she didn't want to speak to him, or even look at him, if her behaviour as they'd left a few days previously was any indication. He wondered how long it would take for Pip to forgive him, or even if she ever would. That thought was a troubling one, and one he kept returning to. Regardless of his other-than-honourable long-term intentions, namely making sure she spent every night in his bed for the rest of her life; she was his friend, and he really enjoyed spending time with her. Until, or indeed _if_ she forgave him, he would have none of that. He _really_ needed to apologise.

First, he had to find her. Then the first thing that came out of his mouth had to be an apology, and a good one. Which could be awkward, because apologies weren't something he was well practiced at, usually preferring to bluster his way through. That wouldn't work with Pip. Not to mention that there could well be some ducking involved while he delivered said apology, depending on what missiles she had to hand.

* * *

Rossi followed the team into the bullpen, trailing along at the back of the crowd, pointedly fixing his gaze on the back of Morgan's head. He didn't want to look at Pip's empty desk. She'd be long gone.

Despite his intent, the urge to take just one little peek was too strong.

Rossi stopped, feet frozen to the floor. The sight of Pip leaning casually against her desk watching him brought forth a feeling so completely indescribable that tears formed in his eyes. She was there, waiting for him, despite their harsh words.

Dignity and discretion be damned. Rossi strode across the intervening distance and swallowed her in an embrace that he didn't care if anyone saw. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Pip's arms tightened around him. "I know," she replied softly. "Me too. Let's get out of here before we cause a scene." She tapped Phillips on the shoulder and made a twirling gesture with one hand. Phillips nodded. Rossi surmised that meant he was doing the paperwork with Hotch, so Pip could leave.

They'd been lucky – everyone else had yet to turn around, still talking amongst themselves. Rossi and Pip slipped out the door before anyone realised they'd gone.

For the first time, dinner was awkward. Every topic seemed to come back to the issue at hand, or have connotations that could be taken that way. Eating was about refuelling rather than enjoyment of the delicious food and to Rossi, leaving the restaurant felt like a relief.

Pip didn't bother with coffee, simply settling herself on the sofa with the whisky. She scooted closer to him when Rossi sat in what was now "his" spot. She'd put an ashtray on the side table on his side of the sofa for the occasional cigar he enjoyed, the familiar grey joggers now lived draped over the arm on his side, freshly laundered. Seeing how she'd adapted aspects of her life to suit him made him feel guilty all over again.

"Pip, I'm sorry," he said, repeating the apology he'd given her in the bullpen.

She nodded. "I don't doubt you, I just want to know why. I've had three days to calm down, but I can't work that bit out. Why would you do something like that when I asked you not to?"

Rossi let out a sigh and accepted the glass of whisky she handed him. "I was worried, that's all." And nosey, but that went without saying. "You kept everything to do with…with _him,_ separate, away from me. Hidden. You kept saying it was under control, but it didn't feel like it to me. So I decided to find out who he was, to see how much of a threat he was, because you acted like you weren't concerned." Rossi held her gaze, trying to show her how anxious about her he'd been. "I just wanted to know."

"Dave, I know how much of a threat he is," said Pip seriously, pausing to take a sip from her tumbler. "I spent enough time watching him take his temper out on people. Believe me when I say I'm not underestimating him."

"But you didn't tell me." Rossi did his best not to sound like a petulant child, but obviously he was only partially successful if the faint smile hovering around her face was anything to go by. "He's out on bail, walking around a free man, and you didn't tell me."

"No, I didn't." Pip put her tumbler down and scrubbed her face with her hands. "And then there was a reason I shouldn't."

"Why? What's wrong? Did he threaten you again? If he…" Rossi's temper rose. If she was being told to keep quiet…

"No!" she cried. "Stop…stop _leaping_ to conclusions, nothing like that. It's just…things got a bit complicated. I can't tell you. Not yet." Pip looked at him then, frustration clear on her face. "Dave, do you trust me?" she asked lowly.

Rossi's initial glib response died on his lips as he studied her. Hands twisting together in concern, earnest stare, bottom lip caught between her teeth. She genuinely wanted to know how far he trusted her. After what he'd done, he could understand the question, but there was more to it. Something else about Damon, something she wouldn't tell him. He could see his answer had the potential to change their relationship forever and that scared the shit out of him.

"With my life," he replied honestly. Her shoulders dropped in relief.

"Then I ask you, one last time. Leave it alone. You can't be involved. If you trust me, then trust me. Or we're done."

Rossi nodded his acceptance of her terms. He would get nothing from her; he'd known that before, it was why he'd gone behind her back. But for her to suggest that their friendship would be over if he tried to bulldoze his way into whatever was going on, was enough to convince him. He would trust her, wherever that may lead him.

It wasn't until later, as he drifted off to sleep in his own bed, that he remembered Hotch's throwaway comment about her past being classified, and made a mental note to see if he could check that.

Perhaps it was fortunate he'd forgotten about that by morning.

Perhaps not.


	15. Amplification (S4E24)

_Amplification (S4E24)_

 _ **Eavesdropping is secretly listening to the private conversation of others without their consent, as defined by Black's Law Dictionary. This is commonly thought to be unethical and there is an old adage that "eavesdroppers seldom hear anything good of themselves... eavesdroppers always try to listen to matters that concern them." - Black's Law Dictionary**_

Rossi closed the file in front of him with a sigh. It was early. Too early to be in work really, yet Hotch and the two members of AST had already been in when he'd arrived. Determined to see the woodwork on his desk at least some time this century, Rossi had been up with the sun and in his office shortly after to try and get a good run at the pile of work that had built up recently.

The file he'd been working on had shades of similarity with an old case he'd consulted on, back when the BAU was still the BSU and it had only been the three of them. He just couldn't remember which one it was off the top of his head. So many cases over the years, that morning it felt like they'd all added up and merged together in his head.

A forage in the filing room was in order, so he could dig through some of his old notes. There was something in their early case work he needed to see again, he was convinced of it. He wasn't entirely sure exactly what he was looking for, or he'd ask Garcia to do some technical wizardry. Not to mention that there was a good chance that some of his really old work wasn't even digitised, and what he needed wouldn't be where she could find it. Pip would be able to point him in the right general direction of his files and he'd have a rummage from there. Rossi smirked to himself. A trip down memory lane, punctuated by psychopaths and deranged serial killers instead of fond memories. Oh, the joys of being a profiler.

Pip wasn't at her desk, so Rossi decided to brave the filing alone. There was a small table near the door and having dragged out a battered box that looked like it might be about the right era, Rossi settled himself down to search. He'd only got as far as the second file in the box when he realised that he wasn't alone. Further back, in the recesses of the filing, he could hear voices and rustling noises. He stilled, listening.

"Appreciate the help, Amber," said Pip. Well, that solved the mystery of why she hadn't been at her desk, at least. "Margaret said she'd get round to it before she left, but…"

"No problem. It's nice to be able to do my required admin time doing something I know back to front already." Amber giggled. "Seeing you is a bonus, of course!"

Rossi smiled. Amber and Pip had been close and he was glad they had a chance to catch up. Pip often mentioned she didn't see Amber as much as she'd like.

"You should be learning something new," scolded Pip. "Although I can't say I'm sorry you're here. This lot wouldn't get sorted otherwise! They reckon they've found your replacement, but they won't be here for a couple of months." There was a grunt, as if a heavy box was being moved. "How's the Academy treating you?"

"Good," replied Amber. "I love it."

"How was your first autopsy?" There was a pause. "You threw up, didn't you?" Pip chuckled. "Don't worry, lots of people do, and I don't suppose you were the only one in your class."

"No, I wasn't," agreed Amber, "but I bet you didn't chuck up on your instructor's shoes."

Rossi grinned. Amber had history of vomiting on or near others' footwear.

Pip snorted. "No, but remember, I did some time in the military. My first autopsy wasn't my first dead body by any means, and it was all neat and clinical, no limbs blown off or guts strewn everywhere."

"It's was just…weird," said Amber. "That body had been walking and talking, had a family, and then it was a classroom aid in a gross version of show-and-tell. I've got another one later this week, I'm not looking forward to it."

"You trained as a forensic accountant," said Pip. "Think of the body like a ledger with unusual transactions on it, or maybe someone fucked up the end of month accruals. It's evidence to be catalogued, examined, hypothesised over. The person is long gone."

"I never really thought about it like that," commented Amber thoughtfully. "I'll see if that helps, thanks Pip."

"My pleasure. So apart from autopsy grossing you out, it's all going ok?"

"Oh, yes!" exclaimed Amber eagerly. "I'm really enjoying it, I can't wait to get out there. The fitness tests take it out of me though," she added. "I'm still sore after my last trip around the obstacle course."

Pip laughed. "That doesn't change. Had my yearly one the other week. I still take them to retain my Agent status, even if I can't go in the field. I could probably have bench-pressed the willowy thing that administered the physical, even with one hand tied behind my back. Nurse still managed to hit bone taking bloods though. Seriously, she'd have been better off using a hatchet, it would have hurt less!" Both of them laughed.

"Still, got the all clear," continued Pip, "my lung function is finally improving, you were right about kick-boxing as a workout routine by the way, and I'm going to keep it up, I rather enjoy it."

"Told you," giggled Amber. "Has nothing to do with the handsome instructor, then?"

"Ha!" barked Pip. "Not likely. He's almost twenty years younger than me, I'm not reduced to cradle-snatching just yet."

Amber sniggered. "What about the rest of your results?"

"The Academy is a bad influence on you, you're far more nosy than you used to be," laughed Pip. "My cholesterol is good, as are my hormone levels. Todd and Leon haven't managed to poison me with their second-hand smoke yet, no early warning signs of liver or kidney problems, no STI's." Pip snorted. "Although that's _no_ surprise. I'd actually have to be _having_ sex for that to be a potential problem. Last time was _far_ too long ago. I've got to the point where "oral sex" means talking about it rather than anything else," she joked. "Speaking of sex, how are you and Jackson getting along?"

There was a cardboardy sort of thwack and a groan as if someone had hit themselves over the head with a file and then hidden behind it.

Pip huffed. "That good, huh?" she asked drily. "I thought he'd been acting a bit squirrelly last few days."

"You want to tell me "I told you so," about half a dozen times please?" replied Amber somewhat bitterly. "I don't know how you always see it, for other people anyway. You've got shocking awareness as far as your own love life is concerned."

"Which is why I don't _have_ a love life any more. It's much easier to manage that way," replied Pip. "What happened? Do I need to verbally string the newest member of the tribe up by his testicles? Because you know I will. And I have a friend who'd help me hide a body."

Rossi grinned. There was no doubt in his mind that she was talking about him. He probably would, too. He might have a word with Phillips anyway. If Pip wanted her latest recruit convinced that sleeping his way through the FBI in defiance of the policies was a bad idea, who better to convince him than the man who'd inspired half those pesky policies in the first place?

"No," laughed Amber. "Because I know you would. But you were right, as usual. It was nice while it lasted I suppose, and the sex was… _amazing_. But at the weekend I got the usual, "we can still be friends," speech."

"Ouch. Having "we can still be friends" thrown at you at the end of a relationship is like your dog dying, and then being told that it's ok because you can still keep it." Rossi had never heard it put quite like that, and from the gales of laughter from the depths of the filing, neither had Amber.

"Pip, that's horrible!" cried Amber through her splutters. "I'd have to get a multi-storey kennel!"

Rossi actually had to cram his hand in his mouth to stop himself from braying laughter along with them and giving his presence away. Amber's serial failures with men was a topic Pip visited regularly over dinner with him, simply because she despaired of ever finding a man that Amber liked, who wasn't just after one thing.

"What about you? If it's been a while, you should see if Chandrasekhar in Accounting would oblige you, he's had his eye on you for years," commented Amber once they'd calmed down enough to start working again. The susurration of moving paper resumed. "He'd jump at the chance, pun intended. Where do you want this one?"

"Just chuck it over there for a moment," replied Pip. "Chandra? Really? I can't see it, reckon you're imagining that," she said dismissively, "I doubt I'm even remotely close to his type. Did you not meet his last girlfriend? She was absolutely _gorgeous._ I was almost tempted to sleep with her myself, she was so pretty. I was definitely behind the door when stunning beauty was handed out; I got physicality and an aptitude for languages instead." She snorted. "I might as well sign up for a life of celibacy and be done with it."

Rossi wasn't so convinced Amber was imagining it. He saw the way Rohit Chandrasekhar looked at Pip during the informal weekly huddles AST had with Accounting, and it always made him grind his teeth with impotent jealousy. What he didn't understand was why Pip couldn't see it, because Chandrasekhar wasn't exactly subtle. And as for not being gorgeous…he had no idea where she'd got _that_ idea. Slender yet muscular, curves in all the right places, that wonderful mane of hair and those sparkling hazel eyes that shone with her particular brand of dry humour. He didn't usually fall for overbearing, opinionated women, but beneath her prickly exterior was a huge, caring heart. As far he was concerned, she was _perfect_.

"Anyway, I thought you'd got lucky the last week?" said Amber, in between rustling paper. "With that hot guy Mark brought out with us for you. What was him name? Antony? Antonio?"

Rossi's ears pricked up uneasily. He hadn't heard about this. She'd mentioned nothing to him of her recent night out with her friends.

There was a thump as if Pip had put a box down with more force than strictly necessary. "I do wish you guys would stop trying to set me up, it never works. His name was Antonin. Antonin Bolinski."

" _That_ was it!" crowed Amber. "Handsome, rich, sexy Russian accent, blonde, blue eyes you could drown in…what more could you want? He was perfect!"

Rossi felt something dig into his hand. He looked down to see he'd bent a notebook in half and guiltily smoothed it out. As much as it might bother him, he had no claim on her. Pip could see, or sleep with, whomever she wanted. Didn't mean he had to like it. And he most certainly didn't.

"There was me worried about being the fifth wheel, out with two loved up couples. I think I would have preferred that to his company," replied Pip. "Seriously, the only topic he was interested in was himself."

"Couldn't be all that bad," disputed Amber, "you left the bar with him, right?"

"Yeah, he walked me home…" said Pip. Rossi recognised that tone, even if Amber didn't, and relaxed a trifle smugly. This Antonin guy was no threat to him.

"Aw, that's really _sweet!_ " Amber cooed. "And then?" She giggled, evidently expecting some juicy details.

"He proceeded to bore me to death the whole way," said Pip. "Honestly, I couldn't wait to get rid of him, I think the man probably falls in love every time he passes a mirror. He walked me all the way to the communal door against my objections, then when I offered him a friendly peck on the cheek out of politeness' sake…he shoved his tongue in my ear, copped a feel and asked to come in," Pip forced a heavy Russian accent, " _for_ _coffee and for sex_."

"Oh no!" cried Amber. "That's awful! What…" There was a pause. "You're smiling," said Amber flatly. "Why are you smiling? Oh God, Pip, what did you _do_?" Last word ended almost in a wail.

"Hooked my leg round his ankle and gave him a shove, dumped his ass on the ground," said Pip. "He may have also fallen down the front steps a little bit," she added ruefully. "Then I told him if he came within twenty feet of me again, I'd have a very good friend of mine shoot him, seeing as I'm no longer licensed to do it myself."

Unseen, Rossi nodded grimly. He'd be more than happy to do so. What the guy had done amounted to Sexual Assault. He idly wondered if there was a way to bring him in anyway.

"Still, wasn't all bad," added Pip lightly.

"What? How so?" asked Amber curiously, much to Rossi's relief. He wanted to know as well. How could that have been not all bad? It sounded like a _disaster_.

"Mark sent me a _huge_ box of chocolates to apologise on his behalf. I think at this point I actually prefer chocolate to sex. At least I'm likely to still have chocolate in the future. Can't say the same about sex at the moment!"

Both of them laughed.

"There's must be _someone_ ," insisted Amber as they continued to work. "Just to scratch that itch. What about Agent Hotchner? He's got lovely dark eyes."

"Amber!" cried Pip in dismay. "What are you like?!" There was laughter and a series of cardboard sound effects as if Pip had batted Amber repeatedly with a file. "No! Jeez! He's my boss! Get your mind out of the fucking gutter, young lady!" They both laughed again before settling back to whatever it was they were doing.

"Apart from the fraternisation policies and an inappropriateness level _off the fucking scale,_ I'd need someone with a little more…passion," said Pip. "You're right about the eyes, but he's so…serious all the time. I'm sure it's in there somewhere, but I'd like not to have to dig for it, y'know? And I need someone who can tolerate my sense of humour, I'm fully aware I can be quite abrasive. I think I'd just piss him off. Besides, cheekbones you can hang your coat on just don't do it for me."

"Ooooh, but I know what does!" squealed Amber. "How about…" To Rossi's frustration, the name was lost in a cascade of rustling paper as a box fell over with a thud.

"Shit!" cried Pip with feeling, once the avalanche had stopped. "Look at this mess; we just had that in alphabetical order too."

"Well?" Amber sounded like she was smiling. "Never mind that. Look me in the eye and tell me honestly that you wouldn't."

Pip sighed. "Fine. Yes, I would, but there's nothing there, trust me. By now, even _I_ would have noticed if there was. Besides, I think he's seeing someone, I can't imagine he _wouldn't_ be." She snorted. "There's probably a fucking _queue_."

"Mmm," hummed Amber. "Fair point, unfortunately. That cheeky grin _is_ rather attractive, I must say, even for an older man."

Rossi shifted, suddenly feeling hopeful, wondering if the name he'd missed hearing had been his own.

Pip made a dismissive noise. "Not sure he really falls into that category."

Rossi's shoulders slumped in disappointment. They weren't talking about him then, there's no way he qualified as anything except "the older man" these days.

"You don't fancy…" started Amber, "no, no, ok, forget I mentioned it."

"I've been cheated on before, I won't get involved in something like that," said Pip sternly. "I won't be the bit on the side."

"You'll find someone," said Amber sympathetically. "And I'll sort this lot. It nearly landed on you, least I can do."

"I did have someone," said Pip sadly. "That's the trouble. I think that was "the one" for me, I doubt there's anyone else out there," she added, so softly Rossi almost missed it. "I don't exactly have a good track record of falling in love, do I? One dead, one using me to fulfil his fantasy of someone else, one drunken psycho and the ultimate in unobtainable man – the popular guy _everyone_ wants to be with." Pip sighed. "I don't stand a chance. I'm on the uphill slope to forty, I've been telling people I'm in my early-thirties for about eight years, I can't get away with it for much longer without dying my hair. They say a woman cannot live by books alone, she also needs a cat. I've got the books, perhaps I should get a cat." The sounds of files being moved about resumed.

"You? A cat lady? Yeah right," retorted Amber. Rossi had to agree. It certainly wouldn't be her fate if he had anything to say about it.

"Maybe not huh? You're probably right, I'm more of a dog person," agreed Pip. She sniggered. "How about one of those old people's homes? I'll be the one spiking the punch on bingo Tuesdays and paying other people's grandchildren to smuggle hard liquor in for me."

Amber laughed. "You're not that old yet! You know, retirement facilities have the fastest rising incidence rate of sexually transmitted infections? There's a lot of sex going on in those places."

"Eew!" exclaimed Pip. "Thanks for that! I'm glad I ate already. So much for getting one's mind out of the gutter. Are you trying to tell me I've got all that to look forward to?" Pip laughed outright. "Lovely," she added drily. "I've got to wait until I'm too old for the idea to be appealing any more before I get some. Talk about cheery thought for the day. Have you…"

An electronic beep paused all the filing noises once more.

"Hang on, that'll be JJ," said Pip. "I hope there isn't another case before we've got all this…" There was a pause. "Oh. Oh _shit_. Amber, just shove it into a pile. Quickly. Then brief Phillips on DTA procedure and get started. Epicentre is Maryland. Move! This is _real_."

There was a gasp that may or may not have had an expletive mingled in with it, as the sound of rustling paper reached frenzied proportions as Amber rushed to do as Pip asked.

Pip's footsteps approached rapidly as if she was running and Rossi had only seconds to drop the file he was holding back into the box and shove it haphazardly onto the nearest shelf. He ducked out of the filing room just before Pip burst through the door.

She blasted past him without so much as a curious glance as to why he was lurking outside, far from his office.

"Come on, Dave. This is bad!" Pip called over her shoulder to him. He'd barely caught up with her when she stopped dead in the middle of the corridor, so suddenly that he cannoned into her back. Pip spun round and grabbed a fistful of his shirt, pulling him even closer.

"Dave…" The intense look on her face defied interpretation, bypassing conscious communication and speaking directly to Rossi's nervous system instead. Suddenly everything _tingled,_ and he fought a brief but violent internal battle not to let it show.

Pip shook her head and looked away, as if dismissing whatever she'd been about to say. She released his shirt and smoothed out the creases she'd made. "For fuck's sake, be careful," she muttered, striding away without another word.

She was wrong. It wasn't bad. It was _catastrophic_. Terrifying. Twelve dead in eighteen hours from an anthrax strain that moved faster than even Reid thought possible. A biological terror attack, practically in their own backyard, and they had the dubious pleasure of General Whitworth's company for the duration of the investigation.

Rossi didn't like the man, and it was clear he didn't like profilers, or believe in their work. He didn't exactly try and hide his doubts, and the mood of the crowd of alpha-males reflected that when they delivered the profile. They got their lead though, which was the whole point in the end, and it was somewhat satisfying to have Whitworth doing as Hotch told him in order to bring their UnSub in before another attack took place.

* * *

"Spotted Amber in the bullpen the other day," Rossi commented over dessert. It had been a trying few days, and dinner out with Pip was just what he needed to get the possibilities of what _could_ have happened out of his head. For a while there, life had got very scary. She'd been waiting for him by his car, the bullpen still too full of people for them to slip away together.

"Yeah, she rotated in for her Admin module," said Pip, licking her spoon. "I did tell her to go and learn something new, but with Margaret gone, I couldn't turn down the offer of help when she insisted. I was glad of her help when it all went crazy. Those military types leave one hell of a mess when they pack up and go home."

"How is she? Are she and Phillips getting on ok?" Rossi asked, smothering a grin. There was no way he was going to admit to lurking in the filing and eavesdropping on their gossiping. "He seemed a little uneasy to be working with her again."

"Just as I predicted. A few months of passionate sex and he moves on." Pip shrugged. "I did tell her."

"Do I need to make plans to assist you doing something painful to him?" he asked, thoroughly enjoying himself.

Pip laughed. "No. I think I'm going to let him think I'm going to, but actually do nothing. The fear and anticipation will work _far_ better. By the time the new recruit turns up in a couple of months, I want him thoroughly chastened. Besides, he's actually really good at his job."

"His job, from what I can work out, is doing exactly what you tell him to do," said Rossi with a smile.

Pip chuckled. "There's a little more to it than that, but broadly, yes. Until I think he's fully fledged, at least. And he's good at it. No fun though. It's no fun if people don't fight back a little when you boss them about." She winked, and he knew that comment was aimed straight at him.

"Amber's got a shot at a good posting in LA in the Missing Persons Unit there, if she plays her cards right," commented Pip once she'd polished her spoon clean to her satisfaction. "She thought she might try for the one in New York, but there's some weird office politics going on there – apparently two of the team are getting married. Sounds dreadfully awkward to me, and she's been scouted by the head of the LA office. Lucky thing." She rolled her eyes. "At least if she's on the other side of country I might be able to avoid some of the awful blind dates she and Mark somehow keep convincing me to go on."

Rossi chuckled. She'd told him about some of those dates, and they'd been unmitigated disasters, each and every one of them. He wouldn't be bringing Bolinski up in conversation any time soon, but it was good to know that even the ones she hadn't told him about had been just as bad as the rest. "Have you been to LA?" he asked, wondering about the secretive smile that was starting to rise on her face. It wasn't his favourite place in the world, by any stretch, but it seemed Pip at least had some fond memories there.

Pip smiled. "Oh _yes_. I spent a whole happy summer there once. There was…" She stopped, and bit her lip, uncertain whether to continue.

"Was what?"

Pip blushed. "There was this…there was a guy. He was a bit older, not that it ever mattered to me. A bit like you, all bluster and prickles on the outside, but a complete softy in the middle. Salt and pepper hair, cheeky smile. He took me to all the highlights, Hollywood, Griffith Park, Santa Monica, the Walk of Fame." She chuckled. "Along with lots of posh houses and dirty alleyways."

Rossi raised an eyebrow. "Do I even want to know?" he asked warily.

Pip grinned. "He was LAPD, part of their Robbery/Homicide division. Great detective, but our dates often got interrupted if they had to roll out. I saw a _lot_ of dead bodies that summer. It was fun, but it was never serious." She shrugged a little sadly. "Not for him, anyway. He had his eye on the head of their internal affairs branch, whatever they call it out there, even if he didn't know that yet. I think it was my hair was he liked, because it was the same colour as hers."

She laughed, dispelling the heavier atmosphere that had blossomed as she spoke of that old hurt. "It's funny, I heard on the grapevine that his new boss is someone I used to work with." Pip smirked. "Crazy woman, with a sugar addiction as bad as your caffeine dependency and a heavy Atlanta accent. Best interrogator I've ever seen, including you." Pip gestured with her wineglass. "Odd taste in food though, especially if she'd been drinking. We even named a sandwich after her, one drunken night after far too much red wine. The BLJ, bacon, lettuce and jelly." Pip sniggered as Rossi pulled a face. "Trust me, it's wonderful, especially if you've had a girly night in that involved a case of wine between three before starting on the shots."

"I'll take your word for it, it sounds disgusting." Rossi shuddered. "How about Holden?" he asked, not really wanting to hear any more anecdotes about her love life, although a weakness for older men was heartening news. "Are you hearing good things about him from Narcotics?"

"Yeah, Mark seems to have really found his feet there. He's working his way through the available people in Washington now he's back from his jaunt abroad. Tally so far," Pip counted them off on her fingers, "one…no, two cops, a paramedic, a fitness instructor, a bartender and a blonde chick who lives in his building." Pip caught his surprised raise of an eyebrow. "Yeah, who knew? Apparently he does have a thing for blondes after all."

The both laughed at that.

"The latest one though," Pip mused, swirling the last of her wine in her glass, "I think he'll hang around. There's something there, I can see it. I usually can. For other people, anyway," she added ruefully. She drained her glass and peered at him over it. "Take JJ and Will for example. The few times I've met him? Yeah. He's a cop. He gets it. What it's like, seeing the darker side of the world every day. The stupid hours, the tightness of the team. They'll still be together when they're both old and grey. Penny and Kevin on the other hand? No. Not long term."

"Oh, I don't know," disagreed Rossi. "It seems to be going really well from what I can see."

Pip shook her head. "He doesn't get it. The BAU. How it is."

Rossi scoffed. "Lynch works for the Bureau too. Of course he does."

"No…no he doesn't," said Pip slowly. "He's not part of a team, a _family_ , like Penny is. And she is, she's part of your little family."

Rossi noticed the "your" but didn't comment. That was an old argument, one he'd lost many times over. AST just weren't included in the closeness the profiling team shared. It was mixed blessing and curse. Much as he'd like to have her included in the evenings out and the camaraderie the profilers shared, he quite liked having their oddball friendship separate.

"Kevin's not part of something like that," continued Pip. "He doesn't get how…how _deep_ it runs. He can't see it. And I think that blind spot will eventually get in the way."


	16. To Hell…-…And Back (S4E25-26)

_To Hell…/…And Back (S4E25-26)_

 _ **Speak when you are angry and you will make the best speech you will ever regret - Ambrose Bierce**_

They'd not had a case for a fortnight, so Rossi had decided to make the most of the down time and asked Pip to dinner. She'd agreed, but said she'd meet him at the restaurant, which was unusual as they'd normally make their way there together. She'd been acting odd all week, twice leaving early or in the middle of the day with no explanation, and then she'd avoided his eyes when she agreed to dinner.

So when Rossi saw Pip exiting Mama Rosa's with a very handsome, dark-haired _younger_ man, the conclusion was obvious. She'd kept things from him before and her new romance with this guy was obviously just something else to add to that list. Perhaps Amber's latest attempt at setting her friend up hadn't gone so badly as all the others.

Jealousy that he strictly had no right to feel raced through Rossi's veins, swiftly followed by anger. She'd brought her new man to _their_ restaurant, where her friendship with him had started, and now this guy was leaving and Rossi was next in line for her company. Like a fucking appointment, a booked time slot.

She was clearly very comfortable with him, whoever he was, an impression only confirmed as she leaned up to whisper in his ear. The man laughed and pressed a gentle kiss to her cheek in response. They hugged before parting; the man climbing into his car, Pip turning away towards the familiar red awning of their little haven, with an expression Rossi chose to interpret as a smile on her face. That was enough to cement his suspicions as fact as far as he was concerned.

He caught up with her just at the door. "Who was he?" he asked angrily. "Are you sleeping with him?"

"Excuse me?" Pip retorted coldly. "Why would that be any of your business?" Her stance became defensive, arms crossed over her chest. Despite the lack of any of her tells that he recognised, Rossi interpreted her posture as guilty and forged ahead.

"Are you sleeping with him?" he repeated harshly. "Am I just your next appointment this evening? Just another notch on your bedpost?" he spat furiously, unable to stop his temper getting the best of him.

"What?" she hissed, her face colouring as her fury rose to meet his. "No! We're working together…" As if that explained everything. Rossi cut her off before she'd finished.

"Didn't stop you and Ian, did it?" The words were out before he could cram them back in.

Rossi watched in dismay as Pip recoiled as if he had struck her. In a way, he had. The heat fled her face, leaving her pale and shaking with rage.

"I don't…did you just…of _all_ people…"

"Pip…" His attempt at an apology was cut off by a resounding slap hard enough to make him see stars and set his ears ringing.

"Fuck you!" She ground out through clenched teeth. "And that's Agent Harker to you, asshole."

Pip stormed away, leaving him holding his burning cheek. He knew he ought to have followed her and tried to explain. Explain that he had been mad, and jealous. That he had been in love with her for longer than he cared to admit. That he was sorry.

But he didn't. Convinced he'd first lost her heart to someone else, and then ruined what little he'd have left, Rossi just stood there until she was out of sight, then turned and walked the other way.

* * *

Pip wasn't in the office the following morning. Hotch gave Rossi an odd look when he asked after her, then proceeded to march him to the men's room to point out the bruising on his face. It wasn't really _that_ noticeable against his skin tone unless one looked for it, just a faint darkening along the line of his cheekbone, but it was definitely there.

Hotch stood behind him as Rossi peered in the mirror, tracing the mark with his fingers. He wondered at just how distracted he must have been while shaving that morning to not notice it. Apparently, he was lucky he hadn't slit his own throat.

"What do you do to earn that?" Hotch asked, pointing at Rossi's reflection.

"Opened my mouth and put both feet in it at once, all the way to the hip. Then…" Rossi shrugged uneasily and avoided meeting Hotch's reflected gaze. "Then there was a dragon."

Hotch sighed and moved to lean back against the basin next to him. "I _warned_ you. Harker called in and asked for a personal day, and you turn up with a bruise on your face." He paused. "Dave, this is why the policies exist," he said wearily. "To stop this kind of thing. I don't want to have to report you. AST are two specialists down already since Collier and Rishi left, and now Harker's not here…well, you'd better hope we don't get a case. Philips is still fairly new, he'll struggle to keep up on his own, and that impacts on us. And potentially any innocent people caught up in it. If something happens because of that...I'd have to explain why."

Rossi didn't correct Hotch's obvious assumption that Pip had violently rejected an inappropriate sexual advance. It was far less shameful than what he'd _actually_ done. Which was to hurl the most painful thing he knew about her as a weapon while she was still tender from its anniversary, using it as a way to score points because he'd been consumed with jealousy. He deserved far more than just the slap she'd given him.

* * *

Of course, they _did_ catch a case. A dreadful one that took them to Ontario and the discovery of potentially hundreds of victims, all sacrificed for twisted medical experiments. Mason Turner had turned Rossi's stomach, and he took a malicious sort of pleasure in taking out some of the disgust he felt for himself on the shell of a man lying in the bed. The shooting of unarmed mentally retarded Lucas Turner by an over-eager SWAT team was a tragedy, only dwarfed by the scale of what he had been manipulated into doing by his brother.

The haunting image of the hundreds of shoes laid out on plastic sheeting in the grounds of the farm just wouldn't leave him, and on the flight home Rossi found himself yearning for Pip's company.

All he could think about was how desperate he was to talk to her. It was partly a selfish desire, borne of horror at what they'd found at that farm. Regardless of any feelings he might have for her, Pip had become his outlet when it got too rough. Ontario had been _very_ rough.

But primarily, he desperately needed to apologise. Again. It was becoming an distasteful habit. No matter how hard he tried, periodically the bull-headed, controlling, self-centered Rossi gene reared its ugly head and he hurt her. By blundering in, assuming he knew better in some fashion, or lashing out when he felt wounded.

She was back in the office; he knew that from the sporadic emails he'd received while in Canada. Hotch wouldn't have to report him, her absence had only been one day, with no impact on the profilers. That knowledge didn't ease his conscience any, nor did it help trying to fix the mess he'd made.

Pip's emails to him were all incredibly formal and business-like. Cold. He could practically see the ice forming on his screen when he opened them. She was still capable and efficient, and he received everything he asked for, case-wise, but anything more personal had been ignored. The warmth he was used to was missing, and his rambling apologies and pleas for a chance to talk went without acknowledgment. Not even a pointed remark when his normally good prose had abandoned him for long-winded incoherency.

The fact that she wasn't there waiting for him as the elevator doors opened nailed home just how badly he'd fucked up. It hit Rossi with the force of a physical blow, to the point that he actually stumbled. If it hadn't been for Hotch, he probably would have landed flat on his face.

"Dave? You ok?" his friend asked, releasing his grip on the back of Rossi's jacket.

Rossi barely heard Hotch's concerned query. He couldn't take his eyes off her empty desk, feeling the hollow void that she had filled in his life grow and expand to encompass his entire being. She hadn't waited for him. Even after he'd pried into Damon against her wishes, she'd been there. He'd ruined it, killed his friendship with her with a few cruel words spoken in anger. He'd fucked it all up, just like he'd always feared he would. He was an arrogant jerk, he'd been told it often enough to know it was true, and the proof was right in front of him.

His best friend had deserted him, and it was _entirely_ his own fault.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Rossi said distractedly. "Yes," he repeated, hoping if he said it enough times it would be true. "I'm fine." He strode to his office and slammed the door shut. He didn't have to turn around to know that Hotch didn't believe him, that he was watching with lips pinched tight and brows furrowed in concern. Rossi didn't care.

He sat alone that night in his own living room with a coffee that was more than fifty percent scotch. It wasn't the same. He hadn't been able to bring himself to cook, the thought of food just didn't appeal after what he'd seen in Ontario. Mudgie sat with his head resting lovingly on his knee, as if he knew of the bleak turmoil in his master's thoughts.

He'd considered phoning her, but decided in the end that Pip refusing to take his call would only make him feel worse. He didn't risk it.

Eventually, Rossi roused himself and moved unenthusiastically in the direction of his bed.

"C'mon Mudge." He'd let the dog sleep on the bed with him, just needing to feel a warm body nearby. He didn't let Mudgie share the bed with him often, his faithful hound was usually more than happy to nest in his own bed in the kitchen, between his master and the door. But that night, Rossi just couldn't bear to sleep alone. Mudgie didn't need asking twice, and bounded up the stairs with energy and gleefulness that Rossi envied. What was it about dogs that made them so happy? Perhaps he ought to invest in some, whatever it was.


	17. Nameless, Faceless (S5E1)

_Nameless, Faceless (S5E1)_

 _ **Shame isn't a quiet grey cloud, shame is a drowning man who claws his way on top of you, scratching and tearing your skin, pushing you under the surface - Kirsty Eagar**_

Pip still wasn't there when Rossi returned the BAU the following morning after a restless night's sleep. Nor was Hotch. They ran the case that came up without either of them. Rossi's preoccupation with both of their whereabouts had to take a backseat as they tried to protect a young boy and find a killer. Reid getting shot provided another distraction from thoughts of Pip once that had been managed. Then she was once again superseded, as news filtered down that Hotch been attacked in his own home, by the Reaper no less. Foyet was back, and he was toying with them.

* * *

Seeing Hotch lying in a hospital bed, pale and looking considerably worse for wear was a horrible shock. It was hard to see a man who usually embodied the words "stoic" and "strong" looking so weak and vulnerable, and _scared_.

Rossi ducked gratefully out of Hotch's cubicle as his cell rang. Anything to get away from the sight of Hotch hooked up to a drip. It was like the whole world had gone out of alignment.

"Rossi."

The voice on the end of the line was professional and absently compassionate. "Agent Rossi, this is St Sebastian's Hospital. We have you down as the emergency contact with decision making authority for a Philippa Harker."

"You do?" he asked stupidly, as the planet shifted on its axis again. When the fuck had she done _that_? Something else he could add to the list of things she hadn't told him about.

"Yes sir, and we need you to come to the ER right away, she's refusing treatment."

"I'm here already, I'll be right there."

It took Rossi two attempts, not including a stop for directions, to navigate his way to the right cubicle. A plump female nurse bustled in alongside him, clipboard in hand.

Pip lay on the bed, breathing shallow and a mass of bruising. Her eyes were closed.

"Pip!" exclaimed Rossi in shock. She opened her eyes as far as she was able and peered at him through the swelling. She still looked angry with him. " _Mio dio!_ What happened?"

"Dave," she gasped, "need you…call Jean-Paul Sirro...works State's Attorney's office."

Of course, she'd want her new boyfriend with her. Rossi said nothing as he clamped down on his anger and disappointment.

"She refused treatment until she spoke to you. You've spoken," said the nameless nurse briskly. "If she doesn't consent to treatment, I'll need you to sign these forms." She thrust the clipboard at him, which Rossi grabbed out of reflex more than anything else.

"Don't. You. Fucking. Dare," managed Pip as he took the proffered clipboard, punctuating each word with a breath to ensure she could enunciate. "Call Jean-Paul."

"Can you give us five minutes?" Rossi asked the nurse.

"You can have two," replied the nurse shortly, and left.

Rossi put the clipboard down on a side table, and moved closer, so he was standing looking down at her in the bed. "Pip, what's going on?"

She grabbed his arm in a grip so tight it hurt. "Dave...do you trust me?" she asked softly.

"You know I do," he replied uneasily. His behaviour towards her the last time they'd been face-to-face hadn't exactly demonstrated that. The disbelief and uncertainty in her expression stung, but was understandable.

"Then trust me. Take some pictures of this with your phone and send them to me, then delete them. And get JP…I _need_ him here. _Right_ now."

The jealousy Rossi felt at that statement translated into anger. "You've got to do better than that, you look like you lost a fight with a steamroller," he snapped.

"'m fine…looks worse than it is."

"Well, that's a relief, because you look like shit," he retorted.

Pip's snort of laughter was cut off by a groan of pain. "Don't…don't make me laugh. It hurts to breathe."

"Two minutes are up," barked the nurse. Goodness knows how long she'd been standing there, because Rossi hadn't heard her return.

Pip ignored her, fixing her gaze on Rossi. "Will you call JP?" she asked. Rossi nodded reluctantly. "Fine," Pip said to the nurse. "Do what you gotta do."

Rossi had barely taken half a dozen snaps of her bruises, around the nurse, when his cell rang again. This time, it was with the news that Hayley and Jack could be the Reaper's next target. He looked over at Pip, agonised.

"Pip…"

"Go," she interrupted. "I'll be fine." She grimaced. "I'm not going anywhere anytime soon. You've got some explaining to do when you get back."

"We both have," he said before he dashed away. He made the call to the DA's office as he ran for his car.

* * *

With Hayley and Jack safe, everyone breathed more easily. Especially Hotch, despite losing them both to WitSec. Rossi left the tearful reunion of father and son in search of Pip.

He found her in the same cubicle as earlier, with the same younger man he'd seen her with before flying to Canada. Jealous rage flashed through Rossi's heart again before he exercised his formidable will, schooling his features into a bland non-expression. He took a deep breath and stepped through the curtain.

The man next to her noticed the movement and immediately stood up, putting himself defensively between Rossi and Pip, before noticeably relaxing.

"Agent Rossi!" he said brightly. "Nice to meet you finally, although I wish it were under different circumstances." The man held out his hand and after a moment, Rossi managed to reach forward and take the offered appendage. He even managed to not crush it in a petty display of his displeasure as they shook. He was quite proud of himself for that.

"You have me at a disadvantage, Mr…" Rossi left the sentence pointedly open to prod the man into introducing himself properly.

"Ah, yes, sorry. I've heard so much about you I feel like we know each other already!" the man chirped happily. He flashed Rossi an open, friendly smile that Rossi didn't return. "Counsellor Jean-Paul Sirro with the DA's office. Call me JP. I'm prosecuting the case against Damon McGill."

Rossi winced and closed his eyes briefly in shame as the pieces started to fit together.

"Now don't you feel stupid?" asked Pip tartly.

Rossi nodded. Stupid didn't even _start_ to cover it.

"He's also Mark's latest catch, if that rubs it in a little further," added Pip.

It did. Well and truly. Rossi nodded again, not quite sure what to say.

Pip looked better than when Rossi had seen her earlier, still covered in bruises, but no longer flinching in pain with every breath. If the shortness of her temper was anything to go by, she would be fine.

JP flushed. "I'm not sure "catch" is quite the right word." He smirked. "Besides, I rather thought it was the other way around."

Pip flapped a dismissive hand in JP's direction. "Whatever. He adores you, you know." She turned to look at Rossi. "They're sickeningly loved-up. Get within five feet of them together and you need a bucket. It's _nauseating_."

"Now that you've completely embarrassed me in front of the FBI," laughed JP, "I'm going to go home to my _catch_." He paused. "Have you got somewhere to go? You shouldn't go back to your place tonight, I don't think. I'd offer you my couch but…"

"But your place is smaller than mine. That's what happens when you insist on living in the District," she teased. "And Mark's going to be there. I can't cope with an entire evening of you two being soppy. I'll get a hotel."

"She'll come home with me," interjected Rossi quickly.

"Oh I will, will I?" asked Pip, folding her arms and glaring at him.

Rossi recognised the look of obstinate defiance and spoke quickly to prevent further objections. "Yes. You will. We need Italian food and you're not dressed to go out, so I'll cook for you instead."

Pip looked down at the hospital scrubs she was wearing and frowned. "Fine. You still owe me a dinner out though," she added belligerently.

Rossi nodded. "I know."

* * *

Pip groaned in pain as Rossi eased her down onto the sofa in his living room. She'd refused to leave the hospital in scrubs, so was now wearing the FBI hoodie he normally kept in the car, over a pair of jogging bottoms from his go-bag. Mudgie settled himself at her knee anticipating an evening of ear rubs. His dog had been remarkably interested in this new person, a grand departure from his usual wariness.

"Ow," muttered Pip. "I think I'm one big bruise," she added, shifting around to try and get comfortable.

"Do you want anything?" Rossi asked, desperate to help any way he could. So far, they'd avoided talking about that night before Canada and as elephants in the room went, it was a huge one.

"Scotch?" she asked, giving in to the inevitability and rubbing Mudgie's ears.

Rossi smiled and shook his head. "Not with a concussion, the doctor was quite clear about that. Water, water or water?"

"No coffee?"

"No coffee."

"Fine. Water," she huffed, folding her arms, and then wincing at the motion. "Ow."

"Those drugs they made me pick up…" It was almost a question, a tentative one.

"No," Pip said shortly. "They're not the same, but that's not the point. I'm not even remotely tempted to fall off that wagon. I spent months getting clean, I'm not about to start down that road again." Mudgie nudged her elbow with his nose, indicating his request that she resume her actions. "I'd prefer the pain."

Rossi fetched her a glass of water, then left her in the living room with his dog for company and went to start cooking. He stood in his kitchen for a moment, considering. Speed was the key this evening, so pasta tossed in a homemade pesto would do.

Talking had to wait until after they'd eaten. Rossi forwent the scotch he wanted in consideration of Pip. It didn't seem fair to drink when she couldn't. He sat opposite her in one of the armchairs, not wanting to crowd her space by sharing the sofa.

"Well this _is_ cosy," she said, looking around. "You realise your living room is probably bigger than my entire apartment?"

"I had noticed," he said with a smile. She was bantering with him, a good sign after their previous exchanges.

"Your designer has good taste."

"Some of it was me," he protested, "I did have _some_ input."

"What _the fuck_ was going through your mind, Dave?" asked Pip abruptly.

She didn't elaborate, but then she didn't need to, and the swift shift in topic surprised pure honesty out of him. "Jealousy."

"Stupid idiot," she said sharply. "If you'd slowed down long enough, you'd have seen I'm not his type, I don't have enough y-chromosomes."

Rossi nodded, agreeing with her assessment. He had been an idiot, and having seen and spoken to the man, he could clearly see JP had no interest in Pip, or any other woman in fact. He just didn't look at Pip the same way Rossi did, but he _had_ given a young male orderly the kind of a long appreciative glance Rossi had been watching for.

He hung his head. "I'm sorry. I had no right to say what I said to you. It was inexcusable and I apologise." Pip said nothing and he looked over to see tears in her eyes. "Pip…I don't know what else to say." He wanted to tell her he loved her, but he couldn't; not after what he'd said.

"It hurt!" she cried, wincing a little at the deep breath she'd taken. " _Really_ hurt. You've never done that before," she added more quietly. "We've argued, we've fought, but what you said…and so soon after…"

"I know. I'm an insensitive, arrogant, pig-headed asshole, as you've told me before on many occasions," replied Rossi. "I hurt everyone around me eventually," he added brokenly.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" asked Pip harshly. "Because it's not working."

"No. But it's the truth, and that's about all I've got to give." He sighed. "Look, I didn't just jump to a conclusion, I took a running _leap_ at it, and I fucked up. Big time. I know that. I just don't know how to make it right."

"You can start by trusting me," she snapped. "You say you do, but your actions…they tell a different story."

That felt like the lash of a whip, regardless of how true it was. Rossi hung his head again. "I'm know, and I was wrong, and I'm sorry," he repeated, this time to his feet. "I just wanted to know what was going on."

"Because barging in unasked worked _so_ well for you last time," she said sarcastically. "You could have started by actually _asking_ me rather than firing sordid and inaccurate accusations," she added, a little less sharply than before.

Rossi looked up and met her gaze. "Would you have told me?" he asked, the doubt clear in his voice. "This whole thing with Damon…I don't know where I stand," he said, not entirely honestly. She'd told him to stay out of it, on more than one occasion. He knew exactly where he stood, he just didn't like it.

"I couldn't have told you all of it," she conceded. "But as for where you stand, you're on the outside. Where I want you…where I _need_ you to be."

"But _why_?" he cried. "Dammit Pip, I care about you! If there's something going on, I want to help!"

"Best way you can help is to stay out if it." Pip said firmly.

There was a battle going on in her eyes, he could see it. He could see hints of shame as well as a flare of her protective instincts, and somehow that combination meant she wasn't going to tell him. Something else was going on here, something he didn't understand, some part of her story he hadn't heard. There always was with her, always another layer to the complicated onion that was Pip Harker, always another secret. It was so fucking frustrating he wanted to scream.

She sighed. "You'll keep digging if I don't say something, so I'll fill you in on some of the basics, on the basis that you trust me and stop ferreting away at it behind my back. Deal?"

"Deal." Fastest decision he'd made in his life. Including the one that left him with a dreadful hangover one morning in Vegas, having been married by an Elvis impersonator to his card dealer from the night before. His third marriage had lasted a mere thirty-six hours, long enough for them both to sober up and get an annulment. The way he was going, there might never be a fourth.

"Damon's…well, I don't think he's entirely sane anymore," started Pip. She sighed. "I don't know if it was the drink that flipped his wig, or maybe he got into drugs since we split. Or I missed the signs completely and he was always a nutcase." Pip rolled her eyes. "Probably the latter, but regardless of how or why, he's completely delusional. Yet oddly, the restraining order keeps him off my doorstep; for someone so obviously fucked up in the head, he's abiding strictly by its terms."

Pip paused and shifted about a bit, trying to find a more comfortable position. "Anyway, he thinks we should still be together, and as far as he's concerned, any guy involved in the case against him is trying to have sex with me and he threatens them. He sees it as me cheating on him, that I'm some sort of yo-yo knickers slut that needs him to control me." She waved a dismissive hand. "I'm sure it all makes sense in his mind, regardless of how bizarre it all sounds. All the time you're not involved in the case, you're not on his radar, despite the amount of time we spend together."

"You're _protecting_ me?" He couldn't hide his incredulity and mounting dismay at what she described. And the deal he'd just made with her…Rossi clenched his jaw in frustration. She'd boxed him into a corner and he'd just capitulated. If nothing else, Pip was a master manipulator, something he hadn't fully appreciated before. She'd run rings around him and got him exactly where she wanted, and he hadn't even realised it until the trap snapped shut behind him.

"And the case." Pip gave him a knowing look. "I know you. You'd wade in, Italian bull in a china shop, and you'd only make it worse. If Damon knew about you, we'd probably end up having to explain, for the record, every single interaction outside of work that we'd ever had." She raised an eyebrow and Rossi flushed cold. They had slept together and having that in court records would not be a good move, for either of them. Hotch would have him castrated, probably just for a start, and Strauss would fire whatever was left of his remains once Hotch had finished with him.

"JP and I have it under control," Pip reassured him. She smirked. "All the time Damon thinks JP and I are sleeping together, everyone else is safe. Not to mention I'm looking forward to seeing him make a fool of himself on the stand when he accuses the State's Attorney, who is openly gay, of bonking his female star witness."

"Hang on, on the stand? Star witness? Are you telling me he's going to get a full court trial for punching a police officer?" Whilst Rossi was fully behind prosecution of those who did that kind of thing, a trial seemed a little over the top. Surely both parties would have preferred to make a deal and get the process over as quickly as possible. "What else aren't you telling me? And what happened last night?" he asked, gesturing to the scattered bruises she carried.

Pip just looked at him and after a moment, Rossi shook his head. "Sorry, I just…I can't help it."

"As soon as it's over, I'll tell you everything. You'll just have to wait, for both our sakes."

Rossi's air left him in a frustrated gust. "God, Pip, what a fucking mess." He ran a hand over his goatee. Questions crowded his tongue, but he bit them all back, desperately trying to comply with her wishes to not get involved, all while still cursing himself for agreeing not to. _Again_. How many times was that now? Three? Or did his latest promise mean it was four? His eyes flickered briefly to the drinks cabinet where he kept the scotch.

"You got that right," said Pip drily. "Go on, pour yourself a drink, Dave. You look like you need it." She caught his conflicted look. "Don't mind me. Knowing you, whatever bottle you've got in there cost more than the last three I bought put together. Enjoy. I'll live vicariously tonight."

Rossi nodded and stood to pour himself a drink. He needed something, he'd been on an emotional rollercoaster for days and he wanted off the ride. The whisky wouldn't necessarily help him do that, but it would at least smooth out some of the bumps.

"Tell me about Canada," she said as his back was turned.

Rossi stayed silent, mentally clamping down on his objections to changing the subject. He liked being in control, and he _didn't_ like that he had absolutely no control whatsoever in the situation regarding her ex-boyfriend. She was as stubborn as he was, if not more. That had been established very early on in their friendship, but he couldn't help but feel disappointed that she just shut him out. Secrets were a way of life for her, something he was only just starting to fully appreciate.

Questions about conflict of interest rose in his mind – if JP and Pip were friends, couldn't that be used by the defence, even if they _weren't_ sleeping together? But on the other hand, she'd mentioned before that the scope of her job meant that she knew all the State's Attorneys anyway. In which case it would be impossible to find one she _didn't_ know to some degree. Still stood by the drinks cabinet, Rossi's thoughts just kept circling, like water round a drain.

"I was going to be there, you know," she said quietly, when his silence dragged on too long. "When you got back."

Rossi spun round to face her. "You were?" he asked, stunned. Questions about Damon and the case against him fled in the face of his surprise. He put the bottle down before he dropped it.

"You needn't sound so shocked," she said with a grim smile. "Don't get me wrong, I'm livid with you." She tilted her head to give him a look that was equal parts annoyance and sympathy. "But you're my best friend and I love you, and I know what you found in Ontario was awful. I was going to be there, despite what you did."

Rossi felt his eyes prickle and glanced away, blinking furiously. After everything he'd said, everything he'd done…to know she'd planned to still be there when he landed completely unmanned him.

"And then I was going to yell at you for being an asshole," continued Pip. "I might have even waited until we were out of earshot of the Bureau."

Rossi tried to laugh at that, but it came out as more of a sob, despite best efforts to get himself under control. It had been a tough week and he couldn't stop the rising flood of emotion.

"Come here, Dave," she said, holding her hands out to him. "I can't come to you."

Rossi sat down next to her on the sofa and she guided his head down so it rested on her shoulder. Her hand stayed on his neck, stroking gently.

"I'm sorry, Pip," he whispered. A solitary tear dampened her borrowed hoodie. "I'm so sorry." He took a shuddering breath. "I'd hoped you'd be there, but when you weren't, I thought I'd lost you for good."

"You know me better than that," she said softly. "Or at least you should."

"Are we…are we ok?" he asked, needing to know. She was his anchor in the storm and without her by his side, even just as a friend, life would be unbearable.

"We will be," Pip reassured him. "What was it you said to me once? "You don't get rid of me that easily". You said you trusted me with your life." She pressed a gentle kiss to the top of his head. "Let me honour that."

There was a moment's silence. "Tell me about Canada," she ordered. And he did.

* * *

Later, after talking about the Turner farm and the appalling things the team had found there, they shared his bed. Pip sprawled in her usual starfish pose with Rossi clutching her to him as if she would disappear if he let go. He'd never hurt her again, he promised himself. Anything to avoid feeling again that sick punch to the stomach he'd felt the previous day.


	18. Interlude

_Interlude (takes place three weeks after Nameless, Faceless)_

 _ **The only honorable, desirable kind of fear that shouldn't be feared is the fear of harm on a loved one. It's the kind of fear that leads to self-sacrifice and the kind of fear where you would truly jump in front of a bus to save another - Criss Jami**_

It was Pip who first noticed they were being followed from the restaurant, Rossi blaming his initial lack of awareness on the quantity of alcohol he'd consumed. Two bottles of wine over dinner wasn't completely unusual for them, but this evening he'd drunk the lion's share and his head was a little muzzy. It was their first time out together since Canada, Pip's bruises had almost completely faded and they were finally back to their cheerfully argumentative relationship. Rossi had kept to his promise not to get involved in the case against Damon, much as it still frustrated him. He was just glad to have another chance.

They'd been discussing vehicle options, Pip having decided that it was time her old car retired. Rossi was a classic car fan, and was trying to convince her that a brand-new model wasn't as satisfying to drive as something older. He shunted the overtones of that particular thought to one side, refusing to examine them.

"Dave, there's two guys tailing us." She'd leaned into him, muttering into his ear in a casual intimate gesture that would not have alerted their twin shadows. Shadows that Rossi noticed as soon as she mentioned them.

Pip pulled out her cell and sent a quick text message, thumb flying over the touchscreen with rapidity that Rossi certainly couldn't have managed. "I've warned JP, he'll send the cavalry."

"Sure you're not overreacting?" he asked doubtfully, but he'd felt her stiffen beside him. _Something_ had pricked her instincts and given how much wine he'd drunk, Rossi was inclined to trust hers over his own.

"Remember I asked you to trust me?" Pip muttered. Rossi nodded. "Then trust me that I think this is about to go sideways very quickly. JP's office fielded a series of threats. We didn't think anything was credible, but in the circumstances…" she subtly indicated behind them, "I'm not taking any chances. We go to court in two days, he's got to be desperate."

The last of Rossi's doubts vanished as they both heard the familiar sound of weapons being cocked. They lunged sideways into a handy alley and flattened themselves against the wall as a hail of bullets flew.

Rossi knelt quickly and retrieved his .38 from his back up holster on his ankle. He held it out to her even as he drew the Springfield 1911 from his hip.

"You've got to be kidding me," muttered Pip, looking down at the weapon he was offering her. "Safest place to stand would be right in-fucking-front of me." She shook her head and pushed his hand away. "No. Keep it."

"You can't just hide here unarmed!"

"Who says I'm unarmed?" she said brightly, two knives appearing in her hands, seemingly from nowhere. The reflected streetlight made the blades glow eerily. "I learnt my lesson. It's one I should never have forgotten. I really missed carrying these, and I don't actually remember why I stopped."

Despite the situation, Rossi could only stare dumbfounded. "Where the fuck do you keep _them_?" he asked incredulously, running his eyes up and down her body. He was usually quite observant, but had completely missed the knives.

Pip smirked at him. "It's amazing what a business suit can hide."

"Trust me, I know. I've seen what you've got under it," replied Rossi drily, raising his voice to be heard over the renewed sound of gunfire as he re-holstered his backup. He blamed the wine and adrenaline for his reference to something they'd agreed not to mention.

Pip huffed and rolled her eyes. "Hardly the time for flattery, Dave," she said. "There are more _important_ things at hand." One of the knives vanished back under her clothing, an equally impressive trick as its appearance had been.

The familiar sparkle in her eyes was brighter than ever. Rossi realised with a jolt he felt to his bones, that _this_ was what she'd been like in the field before it all went wrong in Chicago. Pip was _enjoying_ this.

She hunkered down and peered around the corner at their assailants, jerking her head back quickly as the corner brickwork exploded in a spray of dust and small shrapnel. Pip looked back over her shoulder at him, berserker battle joy dancing in her eyes. She grinned and Rossi shuddered. There was something of a Great White Shark about that grin. A grin similar to that was the last thing a fair selection of marine life saw before something big with a fin took a fatal bite.

"They're amateurs," said Pip smugly. "Using old AK47's and…there! Hear that click and stutter? Cheap reloads. They'll jam when the barrels heat up and then we'll have about fifteen seconds grace, roughly the length of time it'll take those two idiots to realise they're not working and resort to their handguns. I'll take shorty by the old red truck over the other side of the street; you break left and take the skinhead, he's behind the tree we passed a couple of minutes ago. You ready?" The gunfire ceased, first one gun then the other jamming as she'd predicted, coupled with some choice cursing from their two assailants.

"Go!" she yelled.

Pip darted away before Rossi had fully processed everything she'd said, his hand closing on thin air as he made a desperate attempt to stop her breaking cover.

"Shit!" he cried, and started back up the darkened street as she'd instructed. It never occurred to him to question her tactical plan. Off to his right, Pip was whooping and hollering as she ran, enjoying herself immensely as she tore across the space between her and her increasingly panicked target. Rossi couldn't blame the man – if Pip charged at _him_ with a knife in her hand while yelling a battle cry, he'd panic too.

Rossi ducked behind a lone parked car for a moment to get the lay of the land. Time slowed to a crawl and his senses seemed to take on an almost preternatural level of clarity.

He could see out of the corner of his eye that Pip had reached and engaged her target, she was faster on her feet and considerably more sober than he was. He could hear sirens closing on their position, fulfilment of her promise of backup. He could smell the cordite lingering in the air, the gun smoke stinging his nostrils. He could feel his heart pounding with exertion and adrenaline. If he was honest, there was some excitement there too, because Pip's mood was infectious.

And he could _taste_ the fear that rose within him as his target cleared the jammed round and swung the rifle slowly back to towards him, rather than abandon the weapon and reach for an alternative. Rossi was still too far away to shoot with any level of accuracy given the darkness and the wine he'd had with dinner, but he unloaded his gun in the direction of the tree anyway. Every shot missed, and all he achieved was making his target move into a better position to shoot him. Rossi rolled away from the car as several shots whizzed past, too close for comfort. He scrambled to his feet and started running.

Caught in the open with no cover, no ammo and no time to reach for his backup, Rossi was suddenly sure this was his time to die. His rapid shift of direction bought him a second or two, no more, and he didn't think it would be enough to reach either the shooter or suitable cover.

It wasn't.

Milliseconds passed like hours as the barrel centred on him. Rossi could see Pip had changed direction, heading up the street towards him. Her target was down, screaming and clutching his face, blood gushing through his fingers from a knife wound to his eye. She was fast, but she wasn't _that_ fast and there was no way she'd get to his shooter in time to stop the inevitable.

The first shot grazed his arm, hard enough to make him drop the now-empty Springfield. The second whistled past his ear, close enough that he felt it ruffle his hair as it went. Several more shots went over his head. He was still running as the guy tried to lower the barrel against the recoil, knowing a moving target would be harder to hit. He heard the next shot and a grunt as something slammed into him with great force, knocking him to the ground. Rossi's head connected solidly with the grimy sidewalk and everything went black.

* * *

When he blearily opened his eyes, Rossi's first thought was that he'd drunk more than planned the night before, because the hangover was killing him. It felt like someone was using a pneumatic drill on his skull. Sunlight stabbed into his pupils, then started to move back and forth. Rossi gave up on trying to follow it. The sun shouldn't move like that and it made his head hurt even worse that it did already. On top of that, the side to side movement made him feel sick. He closed his eyes again.

"Agent Rossi! David! Look at me!" The loud command was issued by a male voice he didn't recognise. Who the fuck was that in his bedroom?

Rossi valiantly struggled and managed to get his eyelids up to half mast, just enough to see a blur in front of him. He blinked and the blur came into focus a little more. Another blink cleared the image, more or less. It was a paramedic. He wasn't in bed, he was on a stretcher, and it was still night, he could see the moon through his lashes.

"Yeah?" he mumbled. "Stop shoutin'."

The paramedic chuckled and lowered the pen light he'd been shining in Rossi's eyes. "You just keep your eyes open, handsome, and I'll stop shouting. How's that for a deal?"

Considering the sick pounding in his head, Rossi thought anything that stopped the guy yelling was a fine idea. "Yeah, alright."

"Ok. We're going to load you up and get you on your way to the hospital. You've got a nasty concussion. Just keep still and don't try to move."

As memory started to return, Rossi attempted to sit up, to look for Pip. The paramedic immediately stopped him with a firm hand to his chest, pushing him back down onto the stretcher.

"What did I just say? You stay right there or I'll tie you down. I reckon there's been enough heroics this evening without you making things any worse."

Before Rossi could ponder what _that_ meant, the stretcher was trundled backwards and deposited in the back of a waiting ambulance. The paramedic nimbly leaped in beside him, the doors were slammed shut and the ambulance pulled away, sirens blaring. Rossi closed his eyes, wishing he could close his ears against the noise instead.

"Hey! Stay with me, David! Eyes open!" bellowed the paramedic. His voice was really starting to get on Rossi's nerves.

"Loud," he complained, and few moments later, wonder of wonders, the sirens fell silent. "Better." He opened his eyes before the paramedic could yell at him again.

"You're battered and bleeding but we'll forgo the horns as long as you keep those beautiful eyes open," said the paramedic with a smile. He busied himself hooking Rossi up to a selection of monitoring equipment.

"What…" Rossi swallowed thickly as his stomach protested the ambulance's sharp turn to the left. "What happened?"

"I dunno man, I just pick up the pieces afterwards," replied the paramedic absently, checking various monitors and gauges. "Chick you were with got taken in on a blue light run before we got there, we turned up in time to see a dude with one eye being loaded into an ambulance handcuffed to his stretcher. One of the cops said the coroner was on his way to pick up the fourth member of your little party. What went down is between you and the police, hon."

"The girl, she ok?" asked Rossi desperately. A "blue light run" sounded ominous.

The paramedic took his eyes off the chart in his hands and laid a sympathetic hand on Rossi's shoulder. "Heard on the radio that she was alive as she left the scene," he said seriously. "After that? I don't know. I'm sorry."

Rossi used the short trip to the hospital to take stock. He wasn't dead, and didn't appear to have been shot. He doubted the paramedic would be quite so relaxed and flirty if he had been, and he'd been shot before, he knew what it felt like. His arm throbbed where the bullet had grazed him…that didn't count as being shot, did it? The round had probably done more damage to his _suit_ than to him. Another good blazer he could throw out. Rossi could also feel a sticky warmth oozing down his neck through the field dressing wrapped round his head, which thudded with every beat of his heart and bump in the tarmac. Thinking was incredibly difficult. Fear and adrenaline had mostly cleared the fuzziness the wine had caused, but his thoughts were still sluggish, like pushing custard uphill.

Pip was worse off than him, that much was clear. How badly remained to be seen, and that _really_ worried him.

JP was waiting in the ER by the time he arrived. "She's going into surgery, but she's stable," he said quickly as Rossi was wheeled past. "Don't worry!" he called before Rossi was moved out of earshot.

Stupid advice, Rossi had been consumed with worry since hearing she'd been rushed to hospital under blue lights. But knowing that she was stable, that helped a little. There was nothing he could do but wait.

* * *

Hours on an uncomfortable hospital bed passed in a blur of doctors and painkillers. Every time he got comfortable, someone came by to wake him up to make sure he wasn't slipping into a coma instead of a well-deserved doze. JP did the consciousness check in the early hours of the morning, pushing an empty wheelchair with one hand, holding Rossi's go-bag in the other.

"I swiped your keys while you were asleep and fetched your bag from your car," he said. "Hope that's ok."

Rossi nodded carefully, grateful to have a clean set of clothes to put on after having his cut away by ER staff. Anything was better than scrubs, cheap polyester went against the grain of his soul, not to mention it made him itch. "Thanks." He shrugged on a fresh shirt, and put his FBI hoodie on too for good measure, wincing at the soreness of his arm as the stitches pulled.

"Pip's out of surgery and asking for you, if you're up for it," said the lawyer, indicating the wheelchair.

Rossi struggled out of bed as quickly as he was able. The reason for the wheelchair became immediately evident when he swayed and almost lost his balance as soon as his feet touched the floor.

JP grabbed his good arm to keep him upright. "Whoa, steady there," he said. "Sit down before you fall down. She'd have something to say if I let you hurt yourself, I know what you are to her, even if you don't."

That odd comment was far too difficult to analyse when it felt like a herd of elephants was tap dancing in his head, so Rossi let it slide. "I'm good," he said instead, clambering awkwardly into the wheelchair.

"Don't be long," whispered JP as he parked the chair next to Pip's bed. "She's doped up and delirious. I had to use every ounce of my immeasurable charm on her nurse to let you see her as it is. You're lucky I like you, I haven't flirted with a girl since I was twelve. You owe me for that." JP shuddered a little. "I barely escaped with my life."

Rossi winced. An unfortunate turn of phrase, given Pip's condition.

JP patted Rossi's shoulder reassuringly. "I'll be right outside when you want to leave," he murmured.

"Pip?" said Rossi softly once JP had gone. "I'm here."

Pip was pale, so pale the ghosts of the bruises on her face were visible once more. When they opened, her eyes were heavy lidded and the pupils wide and excessively dilated. She was obviously high as a kite on the post-op pain meds they'd given her. Rossi wondered if she'd take it the wrong way if he looked up a schedule of NA meetings in the vicinity. Hard to be hard being involuntarily forced into a relapse, even if it was for surgery.

"Dave," she breathed in relief, her eyes fluttering closed. "You're alive." She forced her eyes open and tried to reach for him.

"I'm here," he repeated, clutching her flailing hand. "I'm fine."

"Lost Ian," she said, eyes rolling closed once again. "Couldn't lose you too."

"I'm ok. Just rest, you're going to be fine too." Rossi wasn't sure who he was reassuring, her or himself.

"Love you."

He had to sharply remind himself that she regularly threw the L-word around casually among her friends, him included. It didn't mean anything, at least not in the way he wanted it to. Even the mention of Ian in the previous breath didn't change that.

Her slurred pronouncement was followed by a relaxation of her tenuous grip on his hand as Pip succumbed to the drugs, and sleep took her.

"I love you too, Pip. I think I always have," Rossi whispered, safe in the knowledge that she couldn't hear him.

* * *

As soon as his rather militant nurse let him leave his hateful bed the following morning, Rossi made a beeline back to Pip. He felt remarkably ok, considering he'd essentially assaulted the sidewalk with his head. He still had a monster headache, obviously that would linger for a while, but the nausea and vertigo was all but gone. Pip looked better too, still pale but she was awake and lucid.

"Morning," he said, sticking his head round the door. "You look a little less stoned than last night, you were pretty out of it."

"Last night?" The look on her face said it all. She had no memory of their admittedly brief conversation.

Rossi took a seat next to the bed. "You asked for me when you got out of surgery, you don't remember?" He couldn't help feeling a little disappointed.

Pip shook her head. "No. I don't remember much after sticking my knife in that guy's skull to be honest."

"Lucky little fool took a bullet meant for you," said JP from the doorway. "Nearly ruined my entire case."

"Good morning to you too," snapped Pip. "Don't think I won't pass that particular expression of concern over my wellbeing on to Mark."

JP laughed. "You're grouchy and snappy, so I know you're going to be fine."

"Get stuffed, JP," she replied good naturedly. "It's barely more than a flesh wound; of course I'm going to be fine. Besides, I'm pretty sure my last words will be something like "oh shit, that didn't work." My eventual demise will undoubtedly be entirely my own fault."

"And standing in the way of a bullet doesn't count as "your fault" then?" retorted JP.

Pip grinned. "Nope. Where do we stand with the trial?" she asked, changing the subject. "I'll testify from this fucking bed if I have to."

"I think we can safely ask for a short delay in the circumstances," said JP seriously, "but I'm going to leave you under guard. I'll have two Marshals posted outside your room, and they'll stay with you until the trial." He glanced at Rossi. "Agent Rossi, I suggest you keep your gun to hand and my number on speed dial. I'll leave you two to talk," the lawyer added, backing out of the room with another worried look at the shocked expression that Rossi knew was etched on his face. He hadn't known, not _really_ known that she'd been shot until JP had said it.

"How do you feel?" asked Rossi, just for something to say once JP had gone.

"Sore. Pissed off. Relieved. All at once," she replied. "I thought I'd got out of the business of being shot at, but apparently not."

"Where…" Rossi stroked his goatee with a hand that trembled slightly. She'd got shot protecting _him_. Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? He was adult enough to acknowledge the chauvinism in that thought, but didn't care to examine it further. "Where'd you get hit?"

Pip smiled gently at him, as if she knew the direction of his thoughts. She probably did, he reflected, she usually had a good idea what was going on in his head, even when he didn't.

"Comparing battle wounds, Dave?" her tone was light and teasing. "We could be here all day."

She pushed down the sheets and lifted the top half of the thin hospital scrubs she was dressed in. A large bandage wound round her stomach, a rectangular pad sat underneath horizontally, slightly off centre.

"Missed basically everything," she said brightly. "Not that there's much left in there to hit anymore." She pulled the sheet up again.

Rossi grimaced. The jarring reminder of her previous experience of gunshot wounds bothered him more than it did her, it seemed.

"Never thought I'd have to _thank_ a gang for shooting me," Pip added, somewhat sarcastically. "Otherwise there'd be a lot more damage."

How was she so calm? Rossi felt like he was holding himself together with both hands and every scrap of will he possessed, but Pip was her usual prickly self, as if nothing had happened.

"Stop it, Dave." Her voice broke through his tangled thoughts. "I'm ok. It was practically a misfire; the bullet tumbled in the air…"

"But you didn't know that at the time!" interjected Rossi.

No, I didn't," she said easily, as if that detail was entirely irrelevant. "But I'll be out of here in a few days, up and about in a couple of weeks at most. I might even be back at work before Agent Hotchner."

"And…the surgery?" Rossi wasn't sure if she was understating how bad it was for his benefit or her own.

She shrugged, albeit a little carefully. "Well, they had to go in and fish it out didn't they?"

Rossi felt his gorge rise at the casualness with which she described it. He swallowed heavily several times, battling to suppress wave after wave of nausea that was almost completely unrelated to his concussion. Knowing her habit of downplaying things, what she described as a simple retrieval mission had probably been more like emergency life-saving surgery.

"Now you're quite clearly involved," Pip continued, "and Damon obviously knows who you are, there's no point trying to keep you out of it any more. I should have known I couldn't protect you from all of it anyway," she added bitterly.

"Pip, I don't need you to protect me!" protested Rossi hotly.

"Yeah?" she said angrily, yanking the sheet down again to display the bandage wrapped around her middle. Her eyes blazed with a fierce protectiveness that Rossi recognised from the way Hotch looked when one of the team was in trouble. "Doesn't look like it from here! I got _shot_ protecting you! It's my mess, and I'll damn well clean it up! Would _you_ rather be laying here with a hole in your gut?"

"Yes!" he thundered, surging to his feet. _Why couldn't she see that?_ He held the rail beside her bed in a white-knuckle grip as his headache increased tenfold, a sick throb of pain that threatened to overwhelm him. "Damn right I would!"

"I just wanted to have something good for once!" she cried. "I didn't want you to get tainted with all this!" Pip suddenly looked very small and frightened huddled in her bed and Rossi made a concerted effort to calm down, both for her sake and for his. He subsided back into the chair beside her, cradling his aching head.

"You scared me ok? I…" Rossi paused. It was not the best time for declarations of love. "I care about you." He ran a hand through his hair and then down over his goatee. A nervous action he knew telegraphed the intensity of his feelings and sure enough, she followed the path of his hand with her eyes, assessing his mood. He couldn't do anything to stop himself completing the action, despite her observation.

Rossi took a deep breath. "I'd gladly take a bullet for you."

"And I'd take one for you," Pip said softly. "I _did_. It goes both ways. I'm fine. It'll be a while before I'm doing sit-ups again, but I'll be ok. I'll let you have the next one, how's that?" she added flippantly.

"Don't joke about it, Pip, it's not funny," he said wearily. Rossi hesitated as a thought struck him. "Is that a possibility?"

"Honestly?" Pip shook her head. "I have no idea. Damon's a classic bully – ultimately, he's a coward. I would never have thought he'd do something like this. If you'd told me it would happen _once_ I wouldn't have believed it. A second time?" She spread her hands in a universal gesture of ignorance. "No clue."

"Tell me the rest," he said with a sigh. "As far as you can, anyway."

Pip shot him a brief glance of appreciation for the belated caveat to his request. "Damon's up for double homicide," she replied. "We were supposed to go to court tomorrow."

"Homicide?" Rossi went cold. Just how much hadn't she told him?

Pip was silent for a moment before reeling off the details in a monotone that was worse than her previous irreverent humour.

"JP is throwing the book at him. Noakes, that's the cop he hit the night he came around, well, he died the day before you flew to Ontario. It was bleeding on the brain, he'd been in a coma since collapsing the day after. All the doctors and the M.E. confirmed the blow to the head Damon gave him was what caused it. Noakes' partner was killed in a shooting about two weeks after the incident, JP has always been convinced Damon was behind that too, although I didn't really believe that until last night. I was watching the night Damon hit Noakes through the peephole in my door, so when his partner died, I became the sole witness in the case JP had started to build."

Pip paused to let Rossi catch up, waiting until he nodded for her to continue. "The night you flew home, I got jumped by three guys that could have been old friends of Damon's, but I can't be sure. It was a warning, an attempt at intimidation. They got me coming out of the store; I'd just bought us a new bottle and was on my way back to meet you. It was dark, I was angry and I had my guard down, and I didn't see them until it was too late. I was beaten, drugged with something, and woke up in my car at a rest stop in Baltimore the following morning. Drove back squinting through my own blood and gasping for air the whole way. That's really why I'm currently car-less; I didn't scrap the rust bucket, it's in Impound as evidence."

"Pip, I saw the state of you!" disputed Rossi. "How did you manage to drive all that way? You could have killed someone!"

"I know, and I ruined a whole load of forensics doing so too, enough to fuck up any chance of catching them – wasn't the greatest idea that's for sure, and JP was furious with me once he found out. I made it to within two blocks of the hospital before I had to pull over. Walked the rest of the way and passed out at the reception desk in the ER, about twenty minutes before you found me with that bitch of a nurse." Pip shook her head. "You know as much as I do about what happened last night I'm afraid. I didn't recognise either of them. One's now missing an eye, and apparently I got off a lucky shot with your .38 and killed the other."

Rossi leaned back in his seat and closed his eyes as he analysed everything she'd told him. Her explanation didn't cover everything, as he'd known it wouldn't, but he didn't press for more detail. She'd tell him exactly the minimum necessary and no more. As always.

Strauss was their next visitor, looking particularly unimpressed to see them together and clutching a selection of forms for them to fill in. "I hope you have a good explanation for this, David."

"Actually ma'am, it's my fault," interjected Pip. "This is all about Damon McGill. I'm sure you have been briefed on my situation?"

Strauss gave Pip a curt nod. "And…this?" she asked, hand gesturing to the pair of them.

Pip shrugged. "Agent Rossi has been very supportive during this difficult time and last night he saved my life."

Strauss didn't believe that for a minute, although that may have due to the choked cough Rossi let out to cover his exclamation of surprise. It had been the other way around, most assuredly. As for supportive…Rossi was fairly sure he'd made things worse.

Strauss swept away an hour later with a fistful of signed forms, unsatisfied and still unimpressed, and they both heaved a deep sigh of relief. There would be some more paperwork to complete: in the course of their eventful evening, Rossi had fired his weapon and so had Pip, killing one of their attackers. Despite that, it seemed they were safe from retribution, from the Bureau at least.

* * *

Rossi tried to insist Pip stay with him when the hospital eventually released her a few days later. He started off fighting for her to stay at least until the trial was over. She ruthlessly whittled that down, past her medical clearance to return to work, all the way down to nothing. To the point that in the end he barely contested when she said wanted to go straight home that afternoon.

Much to Rossi's relief and Pip's disgust, JP had organised a security detail, two pairs of US Marshals to sit outside her house in rotating shifts and follow her wherever she went. Rossi tried to make light of it as far as he could, pointing out that until she found herself some new wheels, at least she had transport. The look on her face told him that the loss of privacy wasn't even close to being worth it.


	19. Haunted (S5E2)

_Haunted (S5E2)_

 _ **We spend most of our lives looking for reassurance from others until we find that others are looking for reassurance from us - Luigina Sgarro**_

In the end, Hotch was back to work before Pip, but only because he came back too soon. Rossi could see it, Morgan could certainly see it. The only person who _couldn't_ see it, was Hotch. He ran roughshod over witnesses and local law enforcement alike in Kentucky, and Rossi found himself defending his friend's actions to Morgan more than once. Despite agreeing with his assessment of Hotch's state of mind. Hotch needed to be in control, to trust that his decisions were the right ones in the heat of the moment. Having people question his every move was torture, and would only make him doubt himself even more.

Rossi still reflexively glanced towards Pip's desk when he got back to the office, even though he knew she was at home. It was habit by now, one ingrained deep in his soul. When his mind was conflicted, he turned automatically to Pip, like a plant twisting towards the sun. He needed to see her, needed to sit and eat in her company. He was worried about her, he was worried about Damon, he was worried about Hotch, and he was worried about Morgan. A split in the team along loyalty lines could implode their entire little family. Just having her listen to him about it all would make it seem smaller, more surmountable. Just sitting with her would reassure him she was healing, that she'd be ok.

After Morgan made his feelings known one last time, Rossi gave in to the urge that had been building since they landed, and called Pip asking if she wanted dinner.

* * *

With Pip unwilling to drag her protection detail out to the restaurant, Rossi found himself outside her house an hour or so later, posting a pizza through the half-open window of an unmarked car. Humanitarian mission complete, he made his way up to her apartment, bags of take out in hand.

It didn't matter that their surroundings were different; dinner followed its normal reassuring, argumentative course. Gender stereotypes in historical literature were brought up and shot down during starters, methods for curbing poaching in Africa debated over salad. Pip opened the expensive bottle of Chianti he'd bought her all that time ago and the subject of language evolution kept them entertained as the lasagne was hoovered up.

It wasn't until they were finishing their desserts that conversation turned more serious. The transition from mock-feud to deep heart-to-heart was usually very clearly defined: one stopped as they left the restaurant, the other started once coffee was brewed. That evening, it was different. Without the walk from one place to another, the two blended seamlessly. Rossi found every single one his thoughts and concerns over the team tumbling from his lips in an uncontrollable flood while they were still eating.

"Did you hear any of that?" he asked peevishly, throwing the last biscotti back in the box uneaten. Normally, she listened to him intently, but after the usual friendly quarrels over dinner, her attention had wandered. Right now, she was focussed on something else and it clearly wasn't anything to do with him.

Pip grabbed the discarded biscotti for herself and nodded as she chewed. "Yeah," she said absently once she'd swallowed. "Agent Hotchner is being an ass, channelling an enhanced version of your standard jerk attitude by the sound of it. Although you usually just think it and glare, rather than _actually_ shouting at the people in your way. He shouldn't be back at work but you're going to let him because him sat at home brooding by himself would be even worse. Agent Morgan has trouble trusting his judgement, and you think he's going to struggle trusting yours, because _you_ trust Agent Hotchner. And you think there's chance the entire team dynamic could fall apart over it."

It was a fair summation, much to his annoyance. How had she managed to pick up everything he'd said, and the plenty he hadn't, without paying him the slightest notice? He'd rambled for about twenty minutes and she'd just repeated it all back to him in five concise sentences. And still wasn't paying him any attention.

"Am I boring you?" he asked testily.

"Got a new trial date," Pip replied, taking a mouthful of wine.

Well, that explained it. Everything to do with McGill had spiralled absurdly out of control, so her wavering attention was understandable.

"Can I ask when?" queried Rossi tentatively. Last time he'd asked about the case, she'd blown up at him. He hadn't asked since.

"Tuesday." More wine.

Five days' time. That was sooner than expected.

"Pip?" Nothing. No response, just another mouthful of wine. Her glass was all but empty by now. "Pip, look at me," Rossi insisted. He waited until she reluctantly met his gaze. "Are you ok?"

"Yes and no." She shrugged, draining the last of her Chianti and putting down her glass. She leaned back on the sofa. "I dunno."

"That clears it all up perfectly, thank you." The smile that flickered onto her face was fleeting, at best, but it made an appearance, which was an improvement.

"I'm not exactly looking forward to it," admitted Pip. "Stop," she added as he tried to speak, "I know what you're about to say."

"I want to be there."

Pip fisted her hands in her hair and groaned. "And there it is. I knew it." She shook her head. "No. Absolutely not."

"Why not?" Rossi couldn't help his voice rising.

"Because you've got enough to worry about!" Pip replied, her voice rising to meet his. She shifted on the sofa to face him. "Your team, your _family_ is tearing itself apart at the seams; they need you to hold them all together! They need you to be there!"

"And you don't?" he retorted. She was right, he knew that, but in his mind she took precedence. She always would.

"No! I mean, yes, I do, but you do that just by existing!"

That took the wind right out of his sails. Rossi just stared at her, completely flummoxed. He had the uncomfortable feeling that his mouth had dropped open in a most unattractive imitation of a goldfish. "What?"

"Don't you realise? I'd be completely lost without you!" She shook her head, as if in disbelief that he didn't understand. "Close your mouth, you're catching flies." Pip let out a sigh and leaned back on the sofa, an action that made Rossi mirror her.

"I don't have many friends," she said more calmly. "Most of the ones I had…most of them died in Chicago, the ones who didn't, we don't talk any more after what happened. The ones I had before the FBI…" she shot him a furtive sideways glance, "well, for the most part, we _can't_ talk any more for one reason or another. There's a few people, but I tend to lose friends in horrible ways. As a result, I've found it really hard to let anyone in."

Pip shifted so she could tuck her feet underneath her body and folded her arms. Rossi let her prevaricate for a moment and was rewarded with a grateful look before she continued.

"Add to that, since Chicago, I struggle in places I don't know. I just can't get comfortable. I'm back in old habits: always checking the exits, scanning the crowd like it's a hostile situation. It makes it hard to get to know people when you immediately assume they're up to something. I have a very short list of my "safe" spaces. Here, obviously," she said, waving her hand vaguely round her apartment. "The BAU, Mama Rosa's, because I've spent so many hours in there it's practically a second home. And wherever you are." She caught his eye and held it. "Dave, sometimes, even just knowing you're on the end of the phone if I need you is enough."

He'd never worry about feeling their friendship was one-sided again. The emotional conviction with which she'd spoken left Rossi sure of that. He was as indispensable to her as she was to him. JP's half remembered comment that night in the hospital made more sense now. Rossi formed part of her safety net, her armour against the world, and that was _fine_ by him.

There was a lot of other information in that little speech too, stuff he'd need to examine at a later date. Hints of her previous life, the classified part Hotch had once alluded to, a comment he'd forgotten about until now. Something had gone very wrong there too, he knew it. Friends she couldn't speak to any more – did that mean they had died? Or was something else preventing them communicating? And what were "old habits" and why did that normally innocent phrase make him so incredibly nervous?

"You'll stay away from the trial?" she asked.

"Sure," Rossi heard himself say, then wondered what the hell had just happened to make him give up without a fight. With her, that was half the fun.

Pip shot him a curious look. "Really? I had a whole pile of logic and reasoning all ready, and now I don't get to use it?" she sulked.

"Not tonight," he said, grinning at her momentary discomfiture.

"So, what are you going to do about Agent Hotchner?" she asked, as if that entire conversation about them, their friendship and the trial hadn't happened.

* * *

Whisky followed the wine as the talking continued and hours went by. There were no answers to what he'd do about Hotch, but talking out the possibilities of how his behaviour had and could affect the team helped. It helped that he had someone outside the stress of that he could talk to, someone who thought as much of Hotch as he did, if not more. It helped that it was _her_.

Pip let him talk until he'd talked himself in circles. Rossi was no closer to a solution, which led him to the uncomfortable conclusion that the best thing to do was probably nothing at all. Anything he could try and do would probably only make things worse.

"I need to stay out of it, don't I?" Rossi said, resigned. "Let him work it out by himself. Let him realise he's not alone. No matter how much it appears that way."

"You managed it." Pip shifted against him. Over the course of the evening, she'd got closer, finally ending up lounging against him. "Eventually. Even if you managed to resist and protest and argue every step of the way."

Rossi smiled down at her. "What fun would it have been otherwise?" he asked, enjoying the indignation on her face.

That indignation didn't stop her from asking him an hour later if he wanted to stay the night. Rossi had no intention of leaving while she was still so distracted by the new court date and immediately agreed.

" _Are_ you ok about Tuesday?" he asked once they'd settled themselves in bed. "You never actually said."

Pip sighed and thumped her pillow vengefully. "I just want it all to be over."

"I know," said Rossi softly, gently gathering her closer to him. "I know." That still wasn't really an answer, but he let it lie.


	20. Reckoner (S5E3)

_Reckoner (S5E3)_

 _ **When all is said and done, the weather and love are the two elements about which one can never be sure - Alice Hoffman.**_

Pip had dragooned Hotch into letting her have her laptop so that she could do some work from home. Bored, and increasingly twitchy about the trial and the day she would give her testimony as it got closer and closer, she'd gambled on Hotch's new-found obsession to do more, to work harder. She'd won.

That was how on the morning of the day she was due to take her oath and tell the jury what she'd seen, Pip phoned Rossi to give him a dose of bad news.

"Heads up, I don't have long," she said, dispensing with the polite formalities as usual.

Rossi checked his watch. "Aren't you supposed to be at the courthouse in less than an hour?"

Pip made a dismissive noise. "This is more important. You've just caught a case."

"And you call me, _from home_ , when you're supposed to already be on your way to court, to tell me this?" he asked, exasperated. "I could have waited and found out in the usual way."

"It's in Commack, Long Island."

"Oh." Rossi felt his stomach drop.

"Thought you ought to know." Pip's voice was anguished. "Dave, I'm sorry. I've got to go, even with my escort I might be late to court, but I thought you'd want to hear it from me first, rather than just have it sprung on you."

"No, no it's fine. I understand," he reassured her. "Thanks for the warning."

"Dave?" There was a pause. "If you decide to go? I'll be waiting when you get back."

She was gone before he managed to ask how she'd known he was thinking of asking Hotch if he could stay behind.

Unfortunately, with Reid lying about being fit to fly, Rossi had no choice but to join the rest of the team as they flew out to Commack. A place he'd sworn never to set foot in again.

And the only person who knew why was in court. Unreachable. Unavailable.

* * *

It was just as bad as he could have imagined it. His old friend Ray was dead and his tragic history with Emma had not only been dragged out into the open, but used as a tool to try and get Judge Schuller to talk. He lied about sleeping with Emma, but he'd caught the lack of surprise on Morgan's face and knew the younger man had believed it, even if only for a moment. Rossi made sure to tell Hotch it had been a fabrication as they flew home. He'd been lost in his own world just staring at Emma's picture, when Hotch had piped up and asked about her. Recognising an opportunity to gently steer his friend down a less destructive path, Rossi tried to help him see that he still had something to fight for. Using Emma as an example of love lost because he didn't make time for it, felt disrespectful but necessary.

" _What are you going to do, to make sure you're not a lonely guy wondering why you let the purest thing in your life get away?"_ The words he'd said to Hotch echoed in Rossi's mind as he drove to Pip's place with a front seat full of Chinese takeout. And another pizza for the two Marshals sat outside in their car.

What to do indeed. He'd done nothing but think about Pip the entire time he'd been away.

He'd seen the look Hotch had given him. A contorted mixture of thoughtful and disbelief, tempered with annoyance. The disbelief and annoyance had been for Rossi's own hypocrisy, something that wasn't fully appreciated until he was letting himself into Pip's apartment with dinner in his arms. How _wonderfully_ domestic of him.

Was he really going to go through the rest of his life hoping and wishing for something, or was he going to do something about it? The look Hotch had given him flashed through his mind once more. Rossi decided in that moment, with his key still in the door, that he wasn't going to wait any longer. He'd tell Pip how he felt, and deal with whatever the consequences were.

New found resolve lasted until Pip asked him outright what was on his mind once they'd eaten. Dinner had been perfect, a lively argument over man's impact or otherwise on climate change and the problems inherent with trying to solve that while still being a nation that thrived on large-engined trucks and cars. They meandered around a little, at one point disagreeing over the interference of bright street lights on sleeping patterns. It was a topic so completely unrelated to work or anything else that Rossi could completely immerse himself in the discussion, sometimes even playing devil's advocate just to get Pip's back up. She'd flare up, passion sparkling in her glorious hazel eyes, and dress him down so thoroughly he could only laugh.

As before, dessert brought that enjoyable pastime to an end, and then Pip broadsided him.

"Dave? Do you want to talk about it?" That she didn't just _tell_ him to do so spoke of her knowledge of how conflicted he was. She'd seen through him, as always. His energetic defence of the V8 engine hadn't convinced her that he was fine. Probably because he wasn't.

Rossi shook his head in the negative. He'd changed his mind some point in the few seconds between the last bites of cannoli and her speaking.

"Ok," she said, laying a warm hand on his arm. "That's fine too. I can't imagine what it would be like to have to back to Chicago, so I get it. Just remember I'm here if you need me." Pip got to her feet and started clearing up the remains of their takeout and the inevitable heap of cartons and packaging that entailed.

Rossi lounged in her sofa sipping his first whisky of the evening as she disappeared into the kitchen with the trash. He was a little put out. She'd completely missed the direction of his thoughts, probably for the first time since they'd met. It wasn't Emma and Commack he was thinking of, but of _her_ , of Pip and the strange relationship they had.

He was both glad and disappointed she hadn't picked up what he was thinking. Self-doubt wasn't a common occurrence for him, and all the more unpleasant because of that. He wasn't used to questioning his own actions or motivations in this manner, but he had to ask himself honestly: was he just setting himself up to get his heart broken again? Would she ever think about him the same way he did her, or would he be better off just keeping his mouth shut?

"Started without me?" teased Pip lightly as she returned. She poured herself a drink and looked him over again. "Are you sure you're ok?" she asked seriously. "You can tell me anything, you know that."

Except he couldn't. Suddenly that felt like lying to her, and Rossi needed to leave. Immediately. Before he made a complete fool of himself.

"I know," he said gently, with a smile that he hoped didn't look as artificial and wonky as it felt. "Thanks, but actually I ought to be going," he added, hoping none of his thoughts showed on his face.

The twisted frown he received in response told him that he'd been less than successful. Rossi made a mental note never to play poker with Pip lest he lose his shirt and a lot more besides.

"Going back…was…" He sighed. "I'm worn out," said Rossi honestly, hoping to reinforce his need to leave, this time with a little more truth mixed in. Hopefully enough that she wouldn't spot the effort to be deliberately misleading. "I just want my own pillow and to see my dog."

"Need to keep up your energy, we're going out tomorrow," replied Pip, making an effort to tease him whilst still giving him pointed assessing look.

With a sinking feeling that Rossi felt all the way down to his toes, he realised she wasn't buying a single bit of what he'd just said and had retuned that receiver he was convinced she had in her head. The one that allowed her to know what he was thinking, even when _he_ wasn't sure. She'd picked up wavelength Rossi and realised it definitely wasn't Commack that was on his mind. She just wasn't quite sure _what_ was.

"Out?" he asked uncertainly. "I thought you weren't keen on that while you've got bodyguards escorting you everywhere you go."

"JP thinks we'll get a guilty verdict sometime tomorrow afternoon," Pip said with a somewhat relieved smile. "It's all gone far quicker than expected, the jury retired to consider this afternoon. Hopefully by tomorrow, I can finally stop being followed by Pinky and Perky. So, you and me?" she pointed her finger at them both in turn, "we're going out to celebrate my new freedom." There was a familiar hint of steel in her voice, a promise that he wouldn't get away with avoiding talking to her for long. "You still owe me dinner out."

Rossi smiled, a far more genuine one than he'd managed a few minutes previously. Whatever his thoughts about talking to her, _really_ talking to her, about what she meant to him and what that meant for their friendship…it would wait until the following evening. When he could sit across from her in _their_ restaurant, where it had all begun.

"I'll drink to that," he said as drained his glass. He stood to go and told himself the flash of disappointment on her face was wishful thinking on his part. "Can I pick you up at the courthouse?" he asked.

Pip shook her head. "His mother Audrey is a real piece of work, she makes him look comparatively sane – my dear boy wouldn't hurt a fly, it was all the evil ex-girlfriend, you know the type. I'd rather not have you in her sights if you don't mind." She snorted. "I've got half an idea that shooting us was her idea not his." The sardonic smile that went with that statement told Rossi she wasn't really joking.

"Seeing as I'll be footloose and fancy free, I'll drive and pick you up from the Bureau, cases permitting. It's about time you see what I bought myself as a present." Pip grinned, as if the anticipation of his reaction amused her.

Rossi nodded. "Is your driving just as crazy as the rest of you?" he teased, making his way to the door. He didn't know what she'd bought, only that she'd replaced the clapped out old estate car she'd driven back from Maryland. He'd never been a passenger with Pip driving, and knowing her as he did, he could only imagine what an experience that would be.

Pip laughed. "Honey, you have _no_ idea," she drawled, prompting Rossi to laugh with her. "Be grateful I sold my bike years ago, or you'd be turning up to the restaurant on the back of a Harley Davidson softail," she added.

Rossi raised his eyes to the ceiling. " _Grazie,"_ he muttered to The Man Upstairs. He'd never been a fan of motorbikes.

Pip sniggered again. Rossi was pleased to see her so carefree and happy, especially as he'd caused that chirpy grin on her face. He lent down to brush a gentle kiss to her cheek, but Pip moved at the last moment and it ended up being dangerously close to her lips.

"Goodnight Pip," Rossi whispered, mind now firmly back to thinking about the conversation they'd have tomorrow.

"Goodnight Dave."

Rossi drove home with the heavy knowledge that tomorrow, everything would change. For good or for ill.


	21. Interlude II

_Interlude (Takes place the day after Reckoner)_

 _ **Don't be afraid of your fears. They are there to tell you something is worth it - C JoyBell C.**_

Rossi watched the clock on his wall. Every minute was dragging like it was an hour. Hotch had agreed to let him leave when Pip arrived, cases permitting, and the clock had stopped, he was sure of it. He'd even got up on a chair to check the batteries to reassure himself the damn thing was still running. With no idea when the jury would finish deliberations, despite JP's assurances to Pip of an imminent guilty verdict, all Rossi could do was wait.

Garcia had sidled into his office early that morning to tell him quietly that she would be keeping an eye on proceedings as much as she could, and that she'd let him know of any updates. Despite Rossi's initial concerns that Garcia wouldn't be able to keep the relationship he had with Pip to herself, Pip had obviously had no qualms about telling her. Rossi found himself incredibly grateful that there was someone else in the building, other than Hotch, who knew why he was acting like a bear with a thorn in its ass. With Garcia's promise of an advance warning of Pip's impending arrival, Rossi had settled himself down with a pile of case files to work.

Limited progress had been made; he just couldn't keep his concentration on the papers in front of him for more than a few minutes at a time. He almost wished for a case to distract him, except that would mean leaving Quantico and Pip behind. Maybe he ought to check the batteries in the clock one more time, just to make sure…

His first indication that something was wrong was the sound of running feet. Morgan's concerned shout was the next. As they got closer, cadence of the footfalls identified Garcia running along the walkway towards his office in a pair of her impossibly high heels. Rossi wrenched open the door just in time to stop her bursting in, closely followed by the rest of the team. Morgan, Reid and Prentiss all started asking questions at once, at the same time as Garcia started babbling too fast for Rossi to understand.

Somehow in the cacophony of voices, Rossi picked up two words: "shooting" and "courthouse" and an icy hand clutched at his heart. He hauled Garcia roughly into his office, ignoring her squeal of surprise and slammed the door in Morgan's face.

"Well?" he barked at her.

"I picked up a report of shots fired at the courthouse. Um…"

"Out with it, Garcia!"

"There are fatalities. I don't know who!" wailed Garcia.

Rossi flung open his door and barged through the gathered throng of agents. "Move!" he growled, making pointed use of both elbows and shoulders to shove his way unceremoniously past them.

His cell rang as he was half way down the ramp. By the time he'd fumbled it from his pocket, he was already at the elevator.

"Rossi," he answered tersely, impatiently jabbing the elevator call button again. Couldn't the damn thing move any faster?

"Agent Rossi, it's JP. We need you at the courthouse" said JP hurriedly. "There's been a shooting. Pip…"

"No, no, no! Not again! TELL ME SHE HASN'T BEEN SHOT!" bellowed Rossi down the phone, hand tightening round the small device until it creaked. His outburst temporarily silenced the crowd of people that had followed him.

"She hasn't been shot."

Anything else JP might have said was lost as Rossi dropped the phone and bent over to grab his knees as sheer relief took his breath away. For a second there, he'd been so sure JP was calling him to say Pip was dead. His legs shook so he let the wall behind him support some of his weight while he tried to pull himself together. The voices around him faded as the world wavered.

"Oh, thank you God," he muttered, his voice barely a whisper as he desperately pulled air into his lungs. "Thank you." He crossed himself for good measure.

Rossi was aware of Hotch picking up his cell and speaking into it before hanging up, then saying something to the team that made them drift away back to their desks. Although not without some concerned looks in his direction.

"Dave?" Hotch's sympathetic voice broke through the disorientation, bringing Rossi back to himself.

He straightened up and took his cell when Hotch held it out to him. The action was punctuated by a cheery ping from the terminally slow elevator as the doors slid open. Rossi stepped in, then looked at Hotch in confusion when he joined him.

Hotch returned the curious glance with one of his own, one that Rossi knew took his rapid breathing and pale face. A minuscule smile flickered around the edges of his friend's mouth.

"I'll drive," said Hotch in a tone that brooked no argument.

* * *

Rossi had a feeling Penelope was helping them as they raced towards the courthouse. Hotch was on the traffic light run of his life, every single light turned green as they approached, and Rossi didn't think it was luck. She was responsible for the blare of horns from crossing streets and the lack of congestion on their route. She had to be.

"Remind me to have a word with Garcia," muttered Hotch, confirming Rossi's thoughts as they flew across yet another intersection where the only green light was exactly where they wanted to go.

"Right after I present her with the biggest bunch of flowers money can buy," replied Rossi shortly.

Unsurprisingly, the courthouse was already a media frenzy and even with their badges, it took several minutes of shoving for Rossi and Hotch to push their way to the cordon. JP met them at the police tape.

"This way," he said shortly. "I can't keep the mother under control much longer."

Even knowing that Pip was unharmed didn't ease Rossi's anxiety at that statement. Hotch had informed of him the basics of what JP had told him on the phone, but that clearly hadn't been everything. "Unharmed but in shock" covered a multitude of possibilities.

There was a collection of police officers in full dress standing to one side of the main doors, shielding something at the base of an ornamental pillar from general view. It was to this encirclement that JP led them. Rossi recognised the tall figure of Agent Holden moments before Holden caught sight of Hotch and blushed faintly.

"Sir," he muttered, and motioned for the two officers either side of him to step aside to let Hotch and Rossi through with JP.

Pip sat with her back to the pillar, covered in blood. Cradled in her arms was a young girl. JP stopped Rossi's automatic step forward.

"Wait a sec." JP grimaced briefly. "You need to know what happened first. Short version: Damon got found guilty and his mom opened fire on Pip as soon as we got outside," he said. "She missed by a mile and caused a mass panic. Pip grabbed up this little girl who'd lost hold of her mom's hand in the stampede. She was just trying to protect her, but Audrey's next shot went through the girl instead of Pip. Once she realised what she'd done, Audrey shot herself before anyone could stop her." JP cocked his thumb in the direction of a blanket-covered shape a few yards away being manoeuvred into a body bag.

JP clenched his jaw and breathed out through his nose to try and control his emotions. "But we can't get Pip to let go of the…the body. She was only five." His voice wavered and cracked, and he cleared his throat several times before continuing. "Pip won't say anything, and she won't let go. The girl's parents are frantic, and I didn't know who else to call. Agent Rossi, can you talk to her?"

As if there was anybody there who could stop him. Pip would blame herself for this needless death, of that, Rossi had no doubt. Probably both of them. He nodded to JP and slowly moved closer to where his best friend sat.

"Pip?" he asked gently, once he was near enough for his voice not to carry too much to the officers that surrounded them. Pip made no response and he took a few steps nearer, aware that Hotch was following but hanging back.

"Pip, can you hear me? It's Dave."

Pip nodded absently, stroking the blood-matted hair of the girl in her arms. Rossi moved closer, cautiously.

He crouched down next to her, suppressing his nausea at the smell of blood. The bullet had gone through the back of the girl's head. Presumably Pip had turned to try and protect her with her body, much as she'd done for him. Whether it was Mrs McGill's poor aim, or sheer back luck, this time it hadn't worked. Pip was coated in a horrifying mixture of blood and brain matter; her upper body and clothing were soaked with it. The little girl would need a closed casket funeral, because no amount of mortician's art would be able put her face back together again. Most of it was splattered across Pip.

"Pip? Would you give her to me? Please? I'll take care of her, I promise." Rossi kept his voice low and reassuring, trying to pull on every single piece of experience he had with traumatised witnesses and every ounce of love he had for her. Pip made no indication she'd heard him.

Rossi tried again. "Pip? Pip, do you trust me?" he said, hoping that would get a reaction.

She looked at him then. It was a dazed, vacant sort of look, but it was a start. Pip looked down at the girl, then back up to Rossi before slowly nodding.

"Then give her to me. I'll look after her."

Pip looked at the girl once more, tucking a wayward lock of bloodied blonde hair behind the girl's ear before holding her out to him. Rossi took the sad weight in his arms and turned his head to silently ask Hotch for help. With assistance from one of the police officers, Hotch took the body and whisked it away as quickly and discreetly as possible.

Leaving Rossi with Pip, alone in a circle of blue.

He knelt down next to her, heedless of the cold that immediately started to seep in through his knees. "I'm here, Pip," he said, taking one of her gore-streaked hands gently in his. "Do you want me take you home?"

After a hesitation long enough to make him really worried, she nodded slowly again. Rossi stood and pulled Pip to her feet, bringing her closer to him as he did so. Pip resisted the motion, trying to push him away.

"Your suit…" she started weakly.

"I've got plenty. You're more important," insisted Rossi, finally able to get her close enough to hold her in his arms. It was like hugging a plank of wood, Pip stiff and unyielding against him.

Holden sidled closer with a blanket, which Rossi awkwardly wrapped around her. Pip was silent the whole way back to the SUV and remained silent as Rossi directed Hotch to her home from the backseat, his arm still protectively around her and her hand clutched firmly in his. He was her shield, she'd told him so, although not in so many words. Rossi had decided long ago to take his responsibilities in that area seriously and never loosened his hold.

Hotch made no comment about Rossi's familiarity with her neighbourhood but raised an eyebrow when he fished his key from a pocket as they reached her door.

"You have a copy of her keys?" Hotch paused, brows furrowing. "What's with the fob? That animal looks _insane_."

"Long story," muttered Rossi with a smile, despite their circumstances. He unlocked the main door and led the way up to the third floor, ushering Pip in front of him and letting Hotch bring up the rear.

Rossi halted the odd-looking trio on the landing in front of Pip's door.

"Could you…?" He asked Hotch, nodding to the still shocked and unresisting form of his friend. "This new lock sticks like a bitch when it's been cold, and I'll need both hands. And then I have to disable the alarm once I've fought with the door."

Hotch nodded and swapped places with him. With the stubborn lock and the alarm dealt with, and the door closed behind them, Pip seemed to rouse a little from her stupor. Exactly what Rossi had hoped by bringing her home. Instead of withdrawn blankness, he could see the horror starting to rise in her eyes. He needed to get the girl's blood off her; she'd not be able to deal with things until she was clean again.

"Come on, let's get all that mess cleaned off," he said to her, replacing Hotch's arm for his own and pushing Pip in the direction of the bathroom. "Aaron, can you make some coffee?" he asked over his shoulder. "Mugs are in the cupboard above the machine. You might want to stick a dollop of scotch in hers. Bottle's by the TV."

"You know your way around," noted Hotch as he headed for the kitchen.

Rossi halted just inside the bathroom doorway and turned to meet Hotch's eye across the hall. "Some of the happiest hours of my life have been spent here," he said honestly, before closing the door behind him. Let Hotch think of that what he would. Rossi wasn't interested in trying to justify himself right now.

He studied his suffering friend for a moment in the harsh fluorescent light common to bathrooms. Still vacant and shocked, Pip had made no attempt to wipe off any of the fluids that had covered her upper body. She'd hadn't spoken except in concern for his suit, back at the courthouse.

Perhaps he should have let JP and Hotch convince him that Pip needed to see a doctor. She could compartmentalise with the best of them, he knew that, but blocking everything out the way she had wasn't healthy.

Rossi considered the idea, as he had at the courthouse, before dismissing it. Again. He knew her better than they did. She needed to be somewhere she considered safe, somewhere he could stay with her. That meant here.

First things first, he had to get her out of her blood-soaked clothes. Pip didn't resist him as he methodically stripped her to her underwear. She didn't resist, but she didn't help him much either, so it took longer than he thought it would. Rossi piled her ruined clothes by the bin, there'd be no point trying to wash out _that_ much blood. Rossi ran the shower until it was warm and pushed her gently toward the spray.

There was blood on his suit, so he stripped his blazer off and tossed it in the direction of the bin. There'd be no rescuing it, and he wasn't in the mood to try. His pants followed, along with his socks. He'd planned to keep his shirt on, but there was blood on that too and it went the way of the rest of his clothes. Dressed only in his boxers, Rossi joined Pip under the water and started to wash the blood off. There was nothing sexual about his actions, despite their near-nakedness. Once he'd scrubbed the blood out from under her nails, he moved up to her arms, then shoulders and face. The water which had run deep pink to start with, paled as he worked.

Just as he was ready to start peering at her varied range of shampoos to work out which one she was using at the moment, Pip finally broke down. Rossi had to move fast to catch her as her knees buckled.

"I'm here, I've got you," he reassured her over and over again, while Pip clutched him like a drowning sailor and sobbed into his chest. He held her tightly against his body, trying to ground her with his presence and his voice.

Her tears eventually ran their course, and the Pip that emerged from the other side was less mentally absent than before.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Rossi gave her one final squeeze before carefully releasing her to study her expression. Better, but still shocked, and with a haunted look that told of nightmares to come. He'd be staying the night.

"Will you be ok if I leave you to do the rest?" he asked. He wouldn't leave if she didn't want him to, but there was still blood on her chest and bra and dealing with that would be a step further than he felt comfortable with. Despite their current state of undress. He knew where he stood, and that didn't involve anything in her underwear.

"Yeah," said Pip quietly. "Coffee?" she asked as he stepped out of the shower. "With alcohol."

"Hotch has it under control," replied Rossi as he towelled himself off. Even through the frosted glass, he didn't miss the twitch of her shoulders at his words. He understood. She wouldn't relax properly until Hotch had gone, which left it up to him to convince their superior to leave. "I'll deal with him, I promise." Her grateful nod of acknowledgement was enough to get him moving.

Rossi expected Hotch to glare at him angrily when he emerged from the bathroom dressed only in a towel, and clearly still damp from sharing a shower with Pip. But anger was curiously absent in the casual glance Hotch gave him before turning his attention back to Pip's many bookshelves. Hiding his surprise, Rossi ducked into her bedroom to strip off his sodden boxers and grab the academy t-shirt and grey joggers he slept in while at hers.

"You've got clothes here," noted Hotch over his cup of coffee once Rossi had settled himself in his usual spot on the sofa. He couldn't figure out if he'd prefer anger over the disappointment all too evident on Hotch's face.

"On loan," Rossi replied, playing for time. "They're not mine."

"Hmm." Hotch hummed noncommittally and took a drought of his coffee. "I saw how you were with each other. And I see how comfortable you are here. Comfortable enough to share a shower and have clothes to wear, apparently." His voice was calm, but his displeasure was clear. There was calculated pause as Hotch drank a little more coffee.

"Don't think I didn't spot the cigar butt in the ashtray, too." Hotch raised an eyebrow. "She doesn't strike me as the cigar type." He paused. "You have a key and obviously know the alarm code and that the door sticks in the cold." He took another measured mouthful from his mug, but the calmness didn't fool Rossi for a minute.

"So, tell me Dave: how long have you been lying to me? Unless you lied to me from the beginning and this has been going on all along?" Hotch made no effort to hide his disappointment now, and Rossi mourned the loss of respect that went with it.

"We're not." He'd planned to broach that subject with her this evening, although that idea was obviously out of the window. "Nothing's changed since you told me to enjoy my friendship with her while it lasted." Rossi caught Hotch's eye and held his gaze. "I never lied to you, Aaron," he said sincerely. "We're not sleeping together." Not in the sense that Hotch meant, at least, but explaining that would be far too awkward in the circumstances.

Hotch's brow furrowed in confusion. "But you're in love with her."

"Yes." There was no point denying it, and Rossi found some small pleasure in finally being able to say it aloud, even if it wasn't to Pip. "Head over heels. In a way I thought impossible, a storybook fantasy," he added. He chuckled at Hotch's startled expression. "Why is that so shocking?"

"Dave, no disrespect, but I find it hard to believe you haven't…" Hotch stopped. "I mean…always before…you're not known for your patience or restraint when it comes to women. I assumed…." He stopped again. "What changed?"

Rossi would have been lying if he said he didn't briefly enjoy seeing Aaron Hotchner, who considered everything he said as carefully as the lawyer he was trained to be, flounder for his words. He grinned. In for a dime, in for a dollar.

"I just hadn't found the right one," he replied. "And now I have, I'm happy to wait. If it never happens, I'll still be happy, just being her friend." That put the stunned expression firmly back on Hotch's face and Rossi wondered if he'd over-sold his hand a little. He sounded like a fucking Valentine's card.

He didn't have time to wonder for long, Hotch starting up a casual conversation about an old case as the bathroom door opened and Pip slipped out. Rossi gave his boss a small salute with his coffee in thanks for changing the subject before she overheard them. Hotch's expression turned calculating as Pip's bedroom door closed behind her.

"All the time you're friends, the fraternisation policies don't apply," he said, placing subtle emphasis on the word "friends". "I can't interfere in something I have no knowledge of." Hotch put down his empty coffee cup, raised an eyebrow and gave Rossi a significant look. "Do I make myself clear?"

Rossi nodded. Now it was his turn to look a little startled. They'd known each other long enough that Hotch's meaning was _perfectly_ clear.

Hotch would look the other way if Pip ever changed her mind and let him take that final step. Provided it didn't impact the team, Hotch would plead ignorance if they got themselves caught. Not that the policies would have stopped them if it came to that; but having his friend's lopsided blessing made Rossi far more comfortable with Hotch's knowledge of how deep the bond that already existed was.

"Thank you," he said as Hotch stood to leave.

Hotch nodded. "I think I understand you two a little better now." He gave Rossi a small smile and glanced towards Pip's closed bedroom door. "Harker's waiting for me to leave, isn't she? I've known you both for longer than you've known each other, and yet you're so much closer to her, Dave. It's you she needs." Hotch held out his hand. "I'm sorry I accused you of lying to me."

Rossi stood, and they shook, before exchanging an awkward one-armed man-hug, the closest Hotch ever got to offering physical reassurance. Rossi appreciated the gesture; he hadn't lost his friend's respect after all, and it prompted him to explain a little more.

"I was so lonely, Aaron. All the womanising…" Rossi sighed. "This job…it's hard to stop the darkness corrupting a relationship, so I didn't bother having them; although I'll admit I enjoyed the reputation a little. But through so many years and so many one-night stands, I was still lonely. She's cured me of that, even if it never goes any further."

Hotch nodded in understanding. "I'll drop your go-bag off on my way home this evening," he said, "that should give you enough changes of clothes to stay with her a couple of days if necessary. I'll sign your backdated leave request when you come back." He glanced towards the still closed door once more. "Try and get her to eat something. I'm sure that's last thing on her mind, but it'll help."

Rossi locked the door behind Hotch as he left, and then threw the chain across for good measure. Time to see how Pip was doing; now they were alone.

He knocked gently on Pip's bedroom door. "Pip? You ok in there?" There was a brief shuffling noise then the door opened a fraction. "It's just you and me now." The door opened wider to reveal Pip already dressed in her pyjamas. "Coffee's getting cold," he said enticingly. "Be a shame to waste the amount of scotch Hotch threw in it for you."

That earned him a weak smile and Pip followed him back to the living room. She spluttered through her first mouthful, a good indication of the coffee to scotch ratio, but drank the rest in a series of large gulps.

"Same again?" she asked, holding out the empty cup.

Rossi left her nesting on the sofa while he reloaded both their cups.

Pip muttered a thank you for the coffee but didn't say anything else as Rossi settled himself next to her. Pip was huddled up in her usual corner but had folded herself into a smaller space than normal. Clutching her coffee like a lifeline, she stared into its dark depths as if all the answers were in there somewhere.

"Do you want to…" Rossi stopped as Pip immediately shook her head. She didn't want to talk about it yet. "Alright, that's fine," he said gently. "What can I do?"

Pip nudged his shoulder with hers and gave him a brief pleading look before returning her gaze to the contents of her cup. Understanding dawned. Rossi switched his coffee to his left hand and wrapped his other arm around her. Pip turned a little, so she could rest her head in the crook of his shoulder and sighed gratefully.

By the time her coffee was gone for the second time, Pip had completely relaxed against him. She was still silent, but it was a different kind of silence now. She picked up the remote and turned on the DVD player.

"Pot luck," she muttered. "No idea what's in there."

It was a spaghetti Western, not that Pip saw any of it. She burrowed her face into his shoulder and dozed off against him, her breathing slow and even.

Rossi recognised escapism when he saw it, but kept still and quiet, letting Pip deal with the day's events in her own way. He was happy just to hold her, her warmth against him evidence that she was unharmed, physically at least. Lulled by the familiar scent of her apartment, the comfort of her sofa and the steady cadence of her respiration, Rossi drifted off too.

* * *

He didn't sleep deeply, so he was awake the moment Pip laid a hand on his chest. With some alarm, Rossi realised he recognised the look in her eyes. He'd seen it the night Battle was shot, and the night he'd arrived home from New York.

"You know what else you can do?" whispered Pip. "You can make me forget, just for a little while."

Her hand slid downwards, and Rossi felt his stomach muscles quiver and bunch at her touch. He captured her roving hand in one of his before she got too much lower.

"Pip, I won't take advantage of you like that," he said softly. "I can't, it's not right."

"Because you're seeing someone." She sounded oddly sure of that. Pip looked away and tried to retrieve her hand from his grip.

Rossi resisted, keeping hold of her. "No, there's no one else," he said honestly. He wondered where she'd got the idea that he was dating someone.

Pip looked up at him. "No one _else_?" she asked, obviously puzzled, and Rossi rued his cryptic comment. Somehow, he'd ended up in the middle of the very conversation he was trying to avoid, in spite of the day she'd had.

"Not since the day I met you."

She didn't look any less confused and Rossi had to suppress a smile, Pip was completely oblivious to his meaning. Either of them.

"You know so much about me, you'd know if I was seeing someone," he reasoned logically. The _other_ reason was one he was going to keep to himself for the time being.

Pip grunted her agreement of his explanation. "Why not then?" she asked morosely.

Rossi brought the hand he'd imprisoned to his lips for a gentle kiss, no more than a feathery brush across her knuckles.

"Because I know _you_ ," he said gently. "And I know your reaction to trauma is to leap into bed with a willing body, and I couldn't bear to take advantage of that for my own selfish desires again. We agreed on that a long time ago." That much at least, was true.

Rossi released her hand and stood up, physically retreating before she said or did something that shattered his self-control. "I'll make us something to eat," he said. "It'll help," he added when Pip grimaced.

He could feel the weight of her gaze on him as he made his way to her kitchen but managed to resist turning to see the look on her face. He was afraid to know what he might find. Afraid that if the misplaced lust he'd seen burning so brightly was still there, he'd give in and do what she wanted. Even if it meant he hated himself for it afterwards.

Considering Pip said she didn't cook much, her cupboards were fairly well stocked. He rather thought she'd been understating herself. Again. Rossi considered his culinary options as muted sounds from her living room told him Pip was raiding her DVD collection for a better distraction than the Wild West. Nothing with tomatoes, that was obvious. Pip didn't need to see anything red splashed across her plate right now. Or grey, which meant mushrooms were out too.

The first strains of music from Middle Earth drifted through to him and Rossi smiled. Fantasy films were another familiar coping strategy of hers, one that meant she was at least focussed on something other than getting in his pants. He'd have preferred it if she'd chosen something less violent, but at least hobbits didn't use guns.

The intrepid adventurers were approaching Bree by the time Rossi emerged from the kitchen with a plateful of Spanish omelette and roasted vegetables for each of them. Cooking had been cathartic and had given him time to consciously ponder how to coax Pip into talking about what had happened at the courthouse.

Despite her previous reservations about eating, Pip demolished her food, making enthusiastic noises of approval as she did so.

" _That_ was amazing," she said once her plate was clear. "You can cook for me more often."

Rossi tried not to read too much into that statement. "Always nice to know my skills are appreciated," he said, trying to say something relatively bland that couldn't be taken in any other context.

Pip smirked knowingly at him and his food turned to lead in his stomach, as Rossi realised he'd managed to achieve exactly the opposite.

"Pip, I…"

"Stop it, Dave," said Pip dismissively. "Don't worry; I'm not going to embarrass us both by throwing myself at you for a second time this evening." Her cheeks heated with her own embarrassment. "Using my best friend for meaningless sex after something horrible happens isn't fair and you were right to stop me. Let's just watch the movie, huh?"

Disputing anything she'd said would only lead to the very discussion he wanted to avoid, so Rossi let it lie.

Talking about what happened waited until they finally retreated to bed, and Rossi held her as Pip wept for the girl whose name she didn't even know.


	22. Hopeless (S5E4)

_A/N: Huge thank you to my reviewers: Elise, bobbinlace and Rossi's Lil Devil. Glad you're enjoying!_

 _Hopeless (S5E4)_

 _ **Do actions agree with words? There's your measure of reliability. Never confine yourself to the words - Frank Herbert**_

He was warm, and he was comfortable. Rossi initially wondered why there was a warm octopus in bed with him, before the scent of Pip's apartment woke up a few more brain cells. He wasn't in his own bed, he was in Pip's, and today was her first day back at work. He'd stayed with her as Hotch had suggested, and his dog had probably decided he wasn't coming home.

Hotch had delivered his go-bag as promised, his arrival coinciding with the end of the film they'd been watching. He'd been pleased to see Pip looking better than before, but hadn't stayed long, long enough just to reassure her that he was extending her medical leave to allow for a few days recovery after events at the courthouse.

The first night, neither of them had slept well. Pip had woken herself up several times wiping off the blood that was no longer there, and Rossi had always planned to sleep lightly in anticipation of her bad dreams. After that, she'd been like a limpet, glued to his side.

Pip snuggled into his neck, her arms and legs firmly pinning him in place. She had clamped herself around him at some point in the night like an amorous cephalopod. There was no escape. He'd grown used to Pip being clingy in the three days he'd been with her following the shooting at the courthouse, although it had been a bit of a shock the first time he'd woken up restrained in such fashion. Usually she sprawled in bed, but she'd been particularly cuddly in her sleep over the last few days.

It was a good job he was facing the other way, because when octo-Pip pressed a kiss to the back of neck just below his hairline, Rossi's eyes slammed open and his body roared into life. Somehow, he kept still and quiet enough for her to dismiss his twitch of movement as involuntary. Pip untangled her limbs from his and rolled away from him. There was a moment's pause, then she sighed and left the warm cocoon they'd made together.

Rossi had to stop himself letting out his own sigh, of relief. He was incredibly grateful the covers had bunched up a bit around his waist – if Pip's hand had been much lower, she would have _definitely_ realised he was awake. Some parts of him more than others.

"Stop it, Pip. Molesting him in his sleep won't help will it?" she muttered to herself as she padded about her room, rummaging out clothes to wear to work.

Three days was long enough for them to develop a new sort of pattern between them. She would shower first, because she took longer, which gave Rossi a few minutes longer in bed. In practice that really meant he had time for his morning wood to subside before vacating the duvet. Three days of her company had made it very hard, pun intended, to keep his hands to himself.

Pip would head for the kitchen once she'd finished in the bathroom, and once he'd showered, she would present him with coffee. Pip's morning coffee was like nectar for the caffeine addict that he was. Thick and strong enough to be almost mistaken for machine oil, it would coat his insides and give Rossi such a caffeine jolt that he'd only need one, rather than his usual three, before speech was possible. He wasn't a morning person by any means, but her coffee _certainly_ helped.

They hadn't strayed far from her apartment in three days, Pip choosing to spend her time with him, either watching movies or losing against him on her games console. With her returning to work, it seemed things were a little different. Rossi could hear her crashing around in the kitchen even while he was brushing his teeth. That didn't stop once he'd finished. The smell of coffee failed to fill the air as he stepped out the steamy bathroom and he stuck his head round the kitchen door in time to see Pip wrench open a drawer with a discordant jangle of cutlery.

"I wanted coffee, but we've run out of milk and I can't find the creamer," complained Pip. She threw a spoon back in the drawer with such ferocity it threatened to bounce straight back out again. She slammed the drawer closed. "Why is it I can never have what I want?"

Still reeling from the potential implications of the kiss she'd given him earlier, Rossi had no answer. He hoped there was still coffee for _him_ ; he'd drink it black if he had to, even if she wouldn't. There'd be little possibility of coherent thought until there was coffee, and he needed to be able to think straight in order to work out what was going on in Pip's head.

Pip huffed at him and brushed past, now hunting for her shoes. Still dressed in a towel, Rossi followed her in a daze, thoughts still whirling. Apparently, there was no coffee forthcoming. He'd have to make do with the sludge in the break room to energise the brain cells so he could assess what had happened that morning. Clothes…he needed clothes first, even before coffee. He did an about face and went looking for something to wear.

* * *

Unable to talk to Pip about his dilemma, Rossi sought out Hotch, clutching a steaming mug like a lifeline and his backdated leave request as an excuse. The contents of the mug was more like mud than coffee, but he was desperate enough not to be choosy. He'd driven alone to work, silently brooding the whole way. That silence felt particularly hard to break, even once safely ensconced in Hotch's office.

"You know Dave, when you said you wanted to speak to me, I expected you to actually have something to say." Hotch fixed him with a concerned look. "What is it you wanted to talk about?"

Rossi fidgeted in his seat. "I don't really know where to start," he muttered, before falling silent once more. He took a strategic gulp of the insipid brew to stall for time.

"Well, if you won't give me a clue, you force me to guess," said Hotch eventually. "So, let's start with worst case scenario: is Harker pregnant?"

"No!" cried Rossi. "No. Aaron, she…" Rossi stopped. Gideon had been the one to hire Pip, Hotch apparently had no idea of the full extent of her injuries, that she couldn't bear children. He shook his head. "I told you we're not…"

"So, that's the problem then," said Hotch, leaning back in his seat.

"No…Maybe."

"Still not clear on why you're here," replied Hotch with a small smile. "Not that I don't appreciate the company of an insufferably cryptic decaffeinated profiler in my office first thing in the morning."

"I don't know what she wants. I thought I did, but now…" Rossi shook his head.

"Dave, you realise the futility of asking me, of all people, about women?" asked Hotch ruefully. "We've got four failed marriages between us. Not exactly a winning record. You're the one with the greater experience with the opposite sex." Hotch frowned as Rossi hissed through his teeth in frustration. "Dave, did it never occur to you to ask _her_? Rather than me? Let's be honest, if _you_ don't know what she's thinking, then Harker is the only other person who will. Nobody else knows her as well as you do. Nobody."

With that in mind, Rossi spent some time in the break room trying to absorb as much caffeine as physically possible; he needed to in order to work out exactly how to start the conversation he needed to have with Pip. He was still there when JJ came to find him with news of a new case, this one local. A home invasion that might have been an escalation in a string of vandalism reports in southeast DC. If it was the same crew, this time they'd left four people dead.

Although the word "dead" didn't quite cover it. "Beaten to hell and back" was closer, but really, nobody had the words. The crime scene was horrific, the metallic tang of blood heavy in the air and somehow, still a lingering sense of malice. That didn't change all the way through their investigation, even when the lead detective threw them off the case. He invited them back in when Hotch was proved right about the group's motivations, the next crime scene clearly retaliation for the riots the previous night.

It was inevitable that the remaining pair would go down in a blaze of gunfire, which was always how such things ended. Morgan's misunderstanding of Hotch's desire to walk away before the shooting started pricked at Rossi's concern again. He understood why Hotch walked away, so did Emily. Morgan had to see it for himself, see the cops take their vengeance, fulfilling the final desire of the psychopaths they'd been chasing. That Morgan still had issues with Hotch's decision-making was something he'd need to keep an eye on.

That evening after it was all over, Rossi ran into Emily on her way to Hotch's office, glass in hand. Rossi smiled and ducked into his office for the bottle Pip had bought him and two more glasses. The three of them shared a drink in silence. There were no words, but there didn't need to be any. It was a different sort of therapy to Rossi's time with Pip. That was all about saying it aloud, vanquishing the monster by naming it. Sat in Hotch's office, it was more of a silent mutual acknowledgement of what they'd seen.

"Dave? Don't you have somewhere to be?" asked Hotch knowingly, once Emily had gone.

"I've been avoiding it."

"I know. You've had three days to avoid it thanks to _them_." There was no need for Hotch to explain who he meant. Three men with one of the most vicious pack dynamics Rossi had ever had the misfortune to run across. The one they'd caught alive had said that what they'd done had been _fun_. How could one fail to be disturbed by that?

"Which won't make it any easier." Hotch leaned back in his chair. "The opposite, in fact. Look, either have that conversation with her, or make it clear you don't want to. But you have to make a decision to do one or the other. There is no sitting on the fence, or it's just going to keep hanging over you."

With that blunt advice in mind, Rossi drained his glass and made his way back to his own office next door. He stopped in the doorway in shock.

Pip was lounged in his chair, feet up on the desk.

"What are you doing in here?" he asked in surprise.

Pip snorted. "Charming. Nice to see you too."

Rossi rolled his eyes. "Yes, nice to see you. Question still stands," he retorted. "And get your feet off my desk!"

Pip lowered her feet in the most exaggerated manner possible and then proceeded to huff on the desktop and theatrically polish it with her sleeve, all while not breaking eye contact.

"Waiting," she said sarcastically, once she'd finished.

There was no point asking why. If she was being awkward, then there was a reason for it.

"How long for?"

Pip smirked. "Long enough to correct the spelling in your field notes," she replied, waving a sheaf of paper in his direction. "You do know "multitude" only has two t's, don't you? Seems to be a bit of a blind spot where you're concerned, you always chuck another one in for good measure. Golf on the brain perhaps? Always got time for another tee, am I right?"

Rossi laughed. That was why he loved her. In spite of the day, in spite of what he had seen, some of it so recently it was still acid-etched on his retinas, she could make him laugh.

"Want to go out?" he asked. "If you're not sick of my company?"

Pip grinned. "Never."

* * *

Dinner felt completely normal. An almost routine experience, which while different every time, was the same. Menus changed with the seasons, topics of conversation on a whim, but the familiar pattern of the two of them arguing over Italian food settled Rossi's mind after the senseless violence he'd seen and the turmoil he'd experienced since she'd kissed him.

It wasn't until he was sat on her sofa with the customary coffee that he finally decided that he was going to tell her.

"I need to talk to you," said Pip, just as he opened his mouth to say the same.

"Ok," he said, trying not to sound disappointed. He'd just worked up the courage and now his legs had been taken from under him again. "I'm listening."

"It's…urgh; I don't know how to say this. Or even if I should." Pip ran her hands through her hair, her French braid starting to come undone. "I've seen some things, heard some things, and I don't know what to do with the information. If anything. It could be something…but it could also be nothing, and then I've upset the status quo for no good reason."

Rossi struggled to keep his breathing even. She was talking about _him_. He was found out, he had to be. Everything she said, the way she said it, even her body language, all screamed of her discomfort with this conversation. It was the only thing he could think of, and he wasn't sure if it was a relief or not. He'd hoped to be the one to start this, to get his point across first and it felt like he was heading for a rejection already.

"Go on," he said carefully.

"It's Agent Morgan."

"What?" Rossi couldn't keep the surprise from his voice, or from his face either, if the look Pip gave him was any indication. What the hell was she talking about? "What about him?" he asked, wanting to shout, "what about _me_?" instead.

"He…I don't know. Like I said, things I saw. You _know_ people don't notice AST. You were working a case, albeit a local one, so your minds were all focussed on that. Means you all noticed us even less, even though you hadn't left the office."

Pip was beating around the bush without any sign of getting to the point and Rossi had to reign in his frustration.

"And?"

"And this isn't official. I don't want anything to be official, in case I'm wrong," replied Pip. "That's why I'm telling you here, now, instead of in your office earlier. When I see stuff, or hear stuff, I keep quiet. Silent as the grave unless someone is in danger. I keep secrets." She snorted. "I've had practice. I'm _good_ at it. But this time I think I've got to say something."

"What is it, Pip? Cut to the chase."

She sighed. "I think he got too close to the sister of one of the victims. Tamara Barnes. Like I said, this is not me raising a complaint or anything like that, I'm just worried. They've got one of those three nutjobs in custody, if Agent Morgan ever has to testify…" Pip closed her eyes and shook her head. "A good defence attorney could have a field day with him if he was romantically involved with a victim's sister."

Pip ran her hands through her hair again, realised it was a complete mess and began to untie it. Her fingers moved in deft, quick movements as her practiced hands moved on autopilot, disassembling the ruined French plait and tidying her mane into a simple braid as she spoke.

"If it were a paperwork mishap? I can solve those if I have to. I've done it before. I can correct things, lose things if necessary. I can cause delays or even find reports and forms that were filled in at the time, yes y'honour I swear. I did it for Dr Reid when…"

Pip slammed her mouth shut, but Rossi was fairly sure he knew what she'd been about to say. She'd done some paperwork gymnastics to cover Reid while he went through addiction to Dilaudid. His past struggle with it was one of the worst-kept secrets in BAU history.

"I'd do it for any of you," she continued more calmly. "You're as much my little ducklings as you are Agent Hotchner's, and I'd risk my career happily if it meant justice happened and you were all safe. But this isn't paperwork and I can't solve it." Pip finished tying off the end of her plait and groaned. "If I'm even right, and I'm not at all sure about that. It could be completely innocent, although I doubt it, if I'm honest."

"What made you think all this in the first place?" asked Rossi, mind working over the possibilities in his head. His own conversation with her would wait. It had waited this long, a little longer wouldn't kill him. The lengths she'd go to in order to protect the team wasn't completely a surprise, after all she had history of self-sacrifice under fire. Literally. Hearing her set it out quite so bluntly however, had been.

"You could practically see the sparks between them the first time they clapped eyes on each other," said Pip with a roll of the eyes. "You know how good I am at spotting it."

Except for herself. _That_ thought landed in Rossi's consciousness with a heavy thud. She'd never realise how he felt unless he said something. There would be no point hinting and standing around waiting for her to make the first move. He'd have to dive in, fully committed, and hope. But not now. Right now, her thoughts about Morgan were at the forefront of her mind and he didn't want to look like he was trying to distract her from that.

"She turned up in the BAU to see him again, for an "update"," Pip made mocking quotation marks in the air with her fingers, "and the looks they shared…honestly, it was practically indecent. Sat there eye-fucking each other, holding hands like the rest of the world had ceased to exist. Then she turned up _again_ , this time at the police station, and while you lot were all working he drove her home. He'd barely got back to the office when you had to go out and find that poor man nailed to his own bar." Pip glanced sideways at him. " _Rotten_ way to go, by the way. He bit Garcia's head off when she tried to mention it, and when he left this evening, he went straight back to Tamara's house. His car was still there last time I checked my computer before deciding to lurk in your office to make sure I caught you."

"How do you know where his car was?"

Pip grinned. "Penny has trackers on all our cars and all our phones and I convinced her to install the software on my machine. Didn't you know that by now?" she asked in response to his stunned look. "Between Agents Greenaway, Reid and Hotchner, herself, and more recently, you and me, we've given her enough to worry about for several lifetimes. Why do you think I wasn't worried about telling her about," Pip paused almost imperceptibly, "us? She knew already because our signals are so often together."

And yet so often apart at the same time.

"So, what am I supposed to do with what you've just told me?" Rossi asked wearily.

"Nothing. I mean, not really. I just want you to keep an eye on him, make sure he's not getting in too deep. He looks up to you."

"I will." Of course he would, and not just for Morgan's sake. If he could lighten the load of Pip's concern, then he'd do anything to help.

Rossi left Pip's apartment not long after that conversation, the implications of which were still swimming around in his head.


	23. Cradle to Grave (S5E5)

_A/n: For Rossi's Lil Devil, seeing as they asked so nicely. Reviews tell me you're enjoying it, do let me know!_

 _Cradle to Grave (S5E5)_

 _ **Gossip is just a tool to distract people who have nothing better to do from feeling jealous of those few of us still remaining with noble hearts - Anna Godbersen.**_

"There's something going on with Hotch," said Rossi over the music. "I know you hear things, and I know that's all you do. You keep that information locked up in your head, you don't share it. But I'm asking. I need to know if you've heard anything."

Pip considered him carefully. He'd been out for the evening with a few old FBI buddies and as the evening went on and the drink kept coming, so did the gossip. Retired agents were worse than washerwomen, and most of them had conveniently forgotten that while Rossi _had_ been retired, he had picked up the badge again. He'd learnt some shocking things that evening, some about old colleagues, some unfortunately about current ones. Like Hotch.

As soon as he could make his escape without being too obvious, Rossi bowed out of the card game that had spontaneously erupted and left. He called Pip from a cab, redirecting the driver to the bar she was in, despite it being the other side of town. He felt bad for crashing her evening with Mark and JP, but not bad enough that it stopped him once he realised she had company.

Especially once he realised just how uncomfortable she was in her surroundings, her eyes darting about, only catching his occasionally. Rossi had never been to this particular place. It seemed to cater towards professionals; most of the people around them wore suits at least as expensive as his own, if not more so. For some semblance of privacy, they'd moved down the bar a little, leaving JP and Mark talking among themselves.

"I don't like politics," she admitted. Not exactly the ringing endorsement he'd been hoping for, but it was enough to confirm his fears.

"Fuck." The word came out short and sharp, yet still seemed to take all the breath from his lungs. He'd so hoped it was all just fanciful imaginings of bored men, made up of hints and wishful thinking for something juicy to better spin the rumour mill with. "It's true then?"

Pip shook her head to silence him and glanced back over her shoulder. "Dave…this isn't a conversation I'm happy having here. This is JP's local, the bunch in here are mostly lawyers, some for very important people, if you see what I mean." She raised an eyebrow, as if willing him to understand.

Pip's meaning was instantly clear. There were people in the bar who shouldn't overhear this discussion.

"You want me to go?" he asked. The last thing he wanted to do was get her or someone else in trouble.

Pip whacked his arm. "Don't be stupid. I love Mark and JP to bits, but you come first. I'll drive you home. It's about time you met my new baby."

Rossi cast a dubious glance at the bottle of beer in her hand. Pip caught his doubt and turned the bottle round so he could see the label and grinned at him. Non-alcoholic beer. As far as Rossi was concerned that was like decaff coffee or meat-free steak: utterly pointless. However, it seemed that night the travesty that was beer-flavoured pop had done him a favour.

"Did I mention this place was full of lawyers?" Pip shuddered dramatically. "Makes my skin crawl. No way am I drinking while surrounded by fucking lawyers." She grinned at him. "I make an exception for JP."

Pip hopped gracefully off her seat and made her way back over to her friends. She casually draped her arms around them both, pulling their heads closer to hers so she could talk to them without having to speak up.

JP shot him a brief glance behind Pip's back as she made her way back towards him. Once eye contact was made, JP made a quick gesture. Rossi narrowed his eyes. The sign JP had just given him looked like a clumsy version of the Marine hand signal for "be alert" that Rossi recognised from his days in the Corps. Rossi tipped JP a nod of understanding over Pip's head as he helped her into her coat. Obviously, JP was one of Pip's sources of gossip. It made sense, if it went on in the halls of power, he would know. JP was highly placed, and only continuing to rise. Leaving the bar wasn't just about what they were discussing, it was about protecting the man who'd probably told her.

"You'll tell me once we get to my place?" Rossi asked once they were outside. He followed Pip as she absently turned left down the street towards a row of parked cars.

Pip just nodded, biting her lip. "Fine." She pointed. "This is me."

Rossi had to stop and stare for just a moment. Pip now drove the biggest pickup truck he'd seen in a long time. It was blue, aside from the chrome, a deep yet somehow vivid blue that shone even under the murky street lighting. Dual cab and a box on the back. It was _huge_. She'd spent some money on it.

"Ain't that somethin'?" he said admiringly. He preferred classic cars, but her truck was a beauty.

"Yup." Pip rocked smugly back and forth on her heels, enjoying his reaction. "Told you you'd be impressed."

"You're tiny. And you bought this monster? If you were a guy, I'd say you were overcompensating for something," he teased.

Pip grinned at him, but there was a touch of something predatory there as well now. It shot ice down Rossi's spine. She could be formidable when she wanted to be, and suddenly the thought of Pip behind the wheel of something quite so powerful terrified him.

"As it's you, I won't, for fear you'd do something terminal to me," he added quickly. He was mostly joking.

She was still grinning once he clambered in. She'd leapt into the driver's seat with all the grace of a gazelle, while he had struggled like a new-born calf, all legs and elbows. Damn thing was a long way up off the ground.

"Strap in, Dave. This is going to be _fun_."

Rossi took one look at her face and scrambled for his seatbelt. The last time he'd seen that look, two people had been shooting at them.

"What in God's good name made you buy something like this?" asked Rossi, frantically trying to fasten his seatbelt. "You drove a mobile scrap heap before."

Pip laughed. She shot out of her parking space in reverse, expertly spun the truck and headed in the direction of his house. "I couldn't get DMV to let me have a tank. This was the next best thing," she quipped. The truck bucked as she accelerated hard. "I may have also had a few modifications made. Engine, brakes, suspension, clutch, gearbox, that kind of thing." She shrugged. "Most of it that wasn't the bodywork really. Including some nifty personal touches that I hope you never have to find out about. I've always wanted something like this and this beauty represents most of my savings, in one fashion or another."

"You wanna slow down? Make an old Italian happy and cool it a little?" begged Rossi as they cornered with a speed that while technically legal, made the suspension shift and groan. Rossi hung on for dear life, more concerned about making it home alive than bothering to decipher yet another artfully dropped hint about yet more secrets.

"Quit with the "old" comments Dave," replied Pip as she casually switched lanes at high speed, overtook someone and switched back again. "Only I'm allowed to make disparaging remarks about your age, because you know I don't mean it."

"You don't?" The age difference between them was another little mental hurdle that Rossi negotiated late at night, while pondering if he had a hope of ever explaining to Pip just what she meant to him. If he ever got out of this truck in one piece, that was.

"Of course not!" replied Pip dismissively. She shot him a glance long enough that Rossi feared ploughing into a lamppost. "More like…matured. Like a fine wine. Or a single malt. Some things get better with age." Pip winked at him before returning her attention to the road in time to brake sharply and dart around a slow-moving minivan.

"Could be worse I suppose," he muttered. "You could have said _cheese_."

Pip just laughed and accelerated again. The longer she drove, the more Rossi came to see that she wasn't simply a maniac. Pip obviously loved speed and taking risks, but she had training. She was in control and maybe even rivalled Morgan's skills behind the wheel, although riding with him was far less scary. While he'd probably never be able relax while she was driving, Rossi could be fairly sure she wasn't about to get him killed.

"Where'd you learn your Offensive Driving?" he asked as she swerved round sweeping corner like she was on a NASCAR circuit. She'd learned somewhere, that was for sure. There was a professional edge to her craziness, more than could be explained by the standard course the Bureau provided.

Pip laughed. "Dave, I grew up in Hell's Kitchen. You can't get anywhere in New York unless your driving offends _somebody_. That's half the fun!"

It wasn't an answer, but Rossi chuckled along with her, mentally adding that evasion to everything else he knew. It was like trying to work out the shape of something by putting everything else together and seeing what _wasn't_ there. What he _could_ see worried him.

* * *

Mudgie greeted them as they opened his front door. He was _very_ pleased to see Pip, showing his appreciation by enthusiastically covering her white jeans with copious amounts of dog hair and about a gallon of dribble.

Pip laughed. "Hi Mudgie." The sound of his name sent Mudgie into paroxysms of delight, and he renewed the onslaught of fur and dog spit until Rossi physically dragged him off.

"I think he likes you," said Rossi wryly, looking at the mess his dog had made of her clothes. He absolutely didn't use the opportunity to admire the way those jeans hugged her curves.

Well, maybe just for a moment.

"He's normally wary of new people and you only met him the once," he continued, shooing the mutt ahead of them with his foot. "He bit the mailman yesterday. Well...tried to, at least."

"You've got a new mailman?"

"No, I've had the same guy for two years."

Pip laughed. "So "new" is a fairly relative term, then? I'm honoured."

"He has good taste," muttered Rossi under his breath, watching her ass wiggle its way into his kitchen.

"How much have you heard?" she asked, once coffee had been made and they'd settled themselves at the kitchen counter. Mudgie parked himself happily at Pip's knee, ignoring his master entirely.

Rossi shot a disgruntled glance at his faithless hound, who was trying to butter up Pip into giving him a rub behind the ears. "That the scrutiny has been superseded by a genuine attempt to oust him from the BAU entirely."

Pip sighed and gave in to Mudgie's insistence that she pet him. "Yeah. That's about the shape of it." She paused. "Where'd you hear it from?"

Rossi rolled his eyes and took a mouthful of his coffee. "From a bunch of old Agents who should have known better than to discuss it in front of me. You?"

Pip shrugged. "Here and there." She paused again, considering him while she drank. "Agent Hotchner knows already, it's not like they've been subtle about it. I think he's got a solution that might work. If we can pull it off."

"If?" She was being very cagey with the details. Rossi sighed internally. He should be used to that with her by now. "What solution?" Perhaps bluntness would prevail.

"No." Pip shook her head. "It's only supposition based on how much I heard…no, I'm not going to tell you, Dave. Please don't ask me," she added when he opened his mouth to object. "The reason I hear so much is because people know I'm not going to share it. Means I can do my job. If people think they have to stop what they were doing or saying every time I appear in their office or at their desk, I'd never get the work done."

Rossi sighed, out loud this time. Pip took secrets seriously, he knew that. He just hadn't expected to be stuck on the sharp end of that, _again_.

"Do you know who's behind it? Will you tell me that much, at least?" Her loyalty to Hotch made it practically assured that she would know who was targeting him.

"Oh, I know all right. Strauss leads this charge," spat Pip disgustedly. "Woman has _no_ idea what it means to go through something like Agent Hotchner did. It's not so much a stick up her ass, she's got a whole National Forest." She smiled at her own joke, but there was a steeliness about that smile that reminded Rossi of a bear trap. "She's never crossed me before, but now she's fair game."

"Erin always was fond of the political long game," mused Rossi. "What prompted this, I wonder," he said aloud, but mostly to himself.

"The Oracle is shut for the evening," replied Pip firmly, closing the lid on the gossip. She put down her empty coffee cup. "And I'd better get moving if I'm going to see my pillow with enough hours left in the night to make it worth going to bed."

She stood, and Rossi followed suit. "Stay," he blurted, not ready for her to leave. She rarely stayed the night at his house, and the scent of her faded all too quickly from his bedding. Pip cocked her head, and he ploughed on. "It'll take you nearly an hour to get home from here."

"Dave, your _dog_ could do the run to my place from here in an hour and you know it," she argued. "It won't take me more than thirty in the truck. Probably less at this time of night and if I avoid the roads with speed traps."

He reluctantly nodded his acceptance and Pip bustled out, pausing only to give his dog a pat and him a peck on the cheek with a reminder not to sit up all night.

Not that it stopped him.

* * *

Rossi regretted the late night as the team flew to New Mexico the following day. Eventually he gave in and slept on the plane, his dreams a mire of confusing imagery. Pip in battle fatigues. A ship foundering in a storm, yards from a lighthouse. Hotch as a schoolboy, stood outside the Principal's office. Mudgie telling him to hurry up before it was too late, although not telling him what for. He arrived in Albuquerque as unrested as he'd left Quantico.

Of all cases, it was one Rossi knew would hang around in his subconscious for a while. Every profiler profiled themselves at some point or another, because knowing one's own motivations helped know the motivations of others. Cases with kids hurt, but _babies_. That was a step further. An old wound, but one that still had the power to hurt. Dear little James, whose birth and death had been on same day.

To have to explore the world of baby sales, to exhume a woman long buried to hope some of her child's DNA remained, was awful. Finding out the babies were being left in safe havens to be adopted rather than sold brought little comfort.

Rossi tried to distract himself from his own thoughts by hinting to Hotch that he knew there was something going on, some heat from above. That he'd be willing to offer help. Hotch shut him down, refusing to even let him in a little. That hurt too, Hotch held a special place in Rossi's heart, the protégé he'd recruited into the BAU. Their friendship had drifted a little recently, Rossi spent a lot of the time he used to spend with Aaron, with Pip instead.

Hotch wouldn't let him help, but Rossi watched nonetheless. Hotch rode Morgan like a whipped horse, constantly driving him on to do more and more. Morgan chafed under the additional pressure, and Rossi started to worry that Hotch's knowledge of what was happening had affected his behaviour.

As if he needed something else to worry about.

The chink in Rossi's armour opened a little wider with the revelation that the UnSubs were only keeping the baby boys. He'd always wanted children and had lost his own boy child within hours of his birth. Rossi took a savage pleasure in hauling the UnSub away by his shirt when they breached the house.

It was a sad tale in the end. A dying woman, married to a monster, traumatised by the death of her son Michael. Not that it made anything they'd done between them right or justifiable by any means. Rossi barely glanced up from his paperwork as JJ tearfully introduced the child they'd found in the house to his biological grandparents. He was craving Pip's company. He needed to see her, hear her voice, anything to erase the mental image of the dungeon they'd found under the house.

* * *

"You want to get takeout?" asked Pip quietly in the elevator on their way down to the parking structure.

Rossi nodded gratefully. He wasn't in the mood for a busy restaurant, no matter how good the food was. He was so pleased Pip knew him well enough to see that. With no further indication that she wanted to change things between them, he'd shelved the idea of talking to her about their relationship. For the time being, he was just content to be her best friend and mutual therapeutic outlet. Times like this, when he needed a friend, made him appreciate just what he had with her.

"You go on ahead, I'll swing past and grab dinner," ordered Pip as the doors opened. Rossi just nodded again.

"Hey." Pip grabbed his arm.

Rossi turned, and Pip engulfed him in a hug. "You're not alone Dave. You're never alone, not while I draw breath." Pip gave him one last squeeze that made his ribs creak and darted away before he could thank her. Somehow, it felt like the tattered shards of his soul had been fused back together by that last painful tightening of her arms.

Dinner and arguments were just the icing on the cake after that.


	24. The Eyes Have It (S5E6)

_The Eyes Have It (S5E6)_

 _ **Karma bides it's time. You will always have to watch out. Karma is unforgiving and always gets payback - Benjamin Bayani**_

Rossi glanced over at Pip as the team left the conference room, still reeling from what they had just been told. Hotch was stepping down as Unit Chief, temporarily promoting Morgan to run the BAU while Hotch remained just as a profiler, one of the team.

Pip tilted her head and briefly flashed him a slightly rueful smile. That was enough for Rossi to know that her supposition about Hotch's plan had been right. Given what he knew of what was going on, Rossi could see it was potentially the only way for Hotch to remain in the BAU at all. What concerned him were the future implications. What would happen when Morgan was asked to step back down again? The Bureau had tried to give him a team of his own once before, what would happen now that he had one?

What concerned him more however, was that Morgan took longer than strictly necessary attending a hearing regarding the sole UnSub left alive from the pack that had killed Tamara Barnes' brother. Rossi would be willing to bet his next royalty check that the pair had stopped for coffee and a cosy chat afterwards. Especially after catching sight of a silver crucifix on Morgan's desk, something Rossi remembered from William Barnes' personal effects.

Perhaps Pip's concerns regarding his relationship with Tamara Barnes were warranted.

Their first case with Morgan in charge turned out to be a strange one, if there could be such a thing in the BAU. Their UnSub was a non-typical enucleator, one who took the eyeballs he removed with him, rather than leaving them behind. The crime scene photos made Rossi's stomach turn. There had always been something about violence against eyes that made him queasy.

Rossi tried to offer his support to both Hotch and Morgan while they were in Oklahoma City. He shared his thoughts regarding Morgan and the long-term leadership of the team with Hotch. He shared some advice regarding sleep while out on a case with Morgan. He'd had to say _something_ , after realising Morgan had slept in the office they were using as a base of operations. He wouldn't like to say how successful he'd been, with either man.

It was little wonder Earl had turned out the way he did. Under the control of a domineering father figure and never schooled or socialised, it was hardly a shock that he wasn't an upstanding member of society. Finding his victims' eyes in various stuffed animals was definitely the low point of Rossi's year. He managed to keep his revulsion under control until away from the rest of the team, then threw up violently in private. Blood and gore had never bothered him that much, as far as he was concerned it was all evidence a killer had left behind. Eyes were another matter.

* * *

Pip looked rather smug when the team trooped back in the bullpen, as did Garcia.

After she'd done the work with Morgan that she'd normally do with Hotch, Pip led Rossi on a slight detour as they left together. Proudly, she showed him what she and Garcia had done between them while the team was away. They had earned their moment of smugness. Agent Hall's office had been cleared and the tired old furniture the man had never changed had been replaced. Morgan had been unwilling to oust Hotch from his office, so Garcia and Pip had organised a different one for him.

"Although technically, Phillips did the organising," said Pip with an impish smile. "He is my logistics expert after all, I just delegated. Garcia decorated, obviously."

"Won't Hall need his office? He doesn't retire for another month or so," replied Rossi.

"Nope." Pip shook her head "He's overjoyed to be able to finish up his paperwork in his garden rather than in here. I mean look at this place," she said, gesturing to the beige walls. "No windows, which means no natural light - wouldn't you rather do your paperwork out in the sun than in here?"

Rossi had to concede that point. At least he had a window in his office, even if it did look out over the parking lot. Still, what Pip and Garcia had managed in such a short space of time was impressive.

"Come on, Penny is going to give Agent Morgan a tour of his new space, I don't want to be standing here looking obvious like two hookers in a convent."

Rossi had to laugh at that, and the two of them drifted away, back towards the elevator and the way out. Their pattern had evolved by then, to the point that it wasn't just the tough cases that prompted a night out together. If he wanted to spend time with her, all Rossi had to do was catch Pip's eye and raise a questioning eyebrow, and he'd get a minute nod in return if she was free for the evening.

Which in practice usually meant they went out together about twice a week. Cases that touched on tender points of the psyche would result in light hearted arguments in an effort to relax, then deeper conversation over coffee afterwards. Cases that didn't still resulted in light hearted arguments, but the conversation over coffee would be more gentle, more teasing. Often, they would power up Pip's games console, battling against each other in racing or first-person shooter games. Rossi had the advantage there, despite Pip's extensive practice – unable to feel the controls with her right hand properly, she'd often miss her cue. And then hit Rossi with a cushion when he won.

They spent a considerable amount of time together outside the BAU in addition to their evenings in Mama Rosa's. What had started as an outlet and turned into a deep and binding friendship was now more like mutual dependency. If work didn't get in the way, she'd often join him for Mudgie's long Saturday afternoon walk. They met up for dinner and drinks with Mark and JP on a semi-regular basis. They went to the cinema together. Rossi dragged her to a cigar exhibition and Pip returned the favour by frog-marching him to a linguistics lecture given entirely in Spanish. He'd grumbled the whole way through, not understanding a word until Pip started a hissed translation in his ear.

* * *

Second-hand Jazz permeated the hallway and stairwell as the pair trudged up to Pip's third floor haven. Along with the distinctive smell of pot. Rossi had eaten sparingly at dinner, amazed he'd had any appetite at all.

"Sounds like Todd and Leon are having a party," commented Pip as they climbed. She sniffed. "Smells like it too."

"Enough to make me worry about passing my next random drug screening," agreed Rossi with a smile. "If they open their front door, just taking a deep breath would be enough to get stoned."

Pip laughed. "I did tell them I work for the FBI and they had to be a bit careful. I look the other way because it's none of my damn business, and frankly, stoned people don't start fights. Drunk people do. Like Damon." She shrugged. "All the time they're not bothering anybody, I pretend not to notice."

"Which is fine until your next test shows cannabis in your blood."

Pip shrugged. "Hasn't happened yet, and I've lived here for nearly five years." Pip smirked at him. "I'll risk it. I bought the leasehold for the top floor from Todd at a bargain price because he doesn't particularly care about money. He's got more than enough even for his grandchildren's lifetimes, if he ever gets around to having any. He's a decent guy and keeps the communal charges reasonable. I doubt I could get somewhere else to live quite so cheap round here. We're not all bestselling authors y'know."

Pip might not be an author, but the heaps of cartons and files spread across her tiny living room reminded Rossi of his piles of notes when he'd been writing his first book.

"I'll start the coffee, you clear a path to the sofa," he said, deadpan. "Do I even want to know what this lot is?"

Pip's expression hardened. "Research. I told you she was fair game now."

Rossi paused in the kitchen doorway. "Strauss?"

Pip nodded grimly. "Strauss."

When Rossi returned with two steaming mugs, Pip had managed to clear the coffee table and most of the floor. The boxes were now all in one large sprawling heap against a bookshelf, files and photos balanced precariously on top.

Rossi put down the coffee and picked up a file at random from the top of the pile, leafing through idly.

"Where did you get this stuff? What have you got here? Looks like everything from her old case files."

"Including other people's where she's just an honourable mention." The smug look he'd seen on Pip's face earlier reappeared. "And her complete personnel record."

"What?!" cried Rossi. "You're not supposed to see that! Those files are not supposed to leave the building Pip, if someone finds out what you've been doing…"

"You going to tell anyone?" she interrupted.

"Well, no," admitted Rossi slowly. "Obviously. But…"

"Then there's no problem." Pip shrugged, dismissing his concerns. She knew he wouldn't say anything, so clearly, that was the end of the issue for her. "I need to know what I'm dealing with. I'll put it all back afterwards, nobody will ever know."

Pip put her hands on her hips and tilted her head. "Whose team does the filing anyway?" she asked, with a raised eyebrow. "Don't worry, it's all under control."

Rossi threw the file he was still holding back on the pile and sat down. "Last time you told me that, I got shot at," he noted drily. "Forgive me for being a little sceptical."

Pip just laughed at him.


	25. Outfoxed (S5E8)

_A/n: Because I've got it ready, because I want to, because Rossi's Lil Devil asked..._

 _Outfoxed (S5E8)_

 _ **We secure our friends not by accepting favors but by doing them - Thucydides**_

"Need a favour," announced Pip from his office doorway.

"Anything." Rossi's response was automatic and immediate. He'd do anything for her, legal or otherwise.

Pip shut the door. Rossi raised his eyebrows. That was unusual.

"It's more of…a favour for somebody else. Someone potentially useful to have a favour in with."

"O…k," said Rossi slowly. _Now_ he was interested. He put down his pen and gave her his full attention. Favours like that made the world go around, much as people would try and deny it.

"You know that two-day conference I went to, about a week ago? Couple of days after you all got back from the case in LA with the so-called vampire?" Rossi nodded. "I met somebody rather…" Pip appeared to be searching for an adequate word. "Somebody _interesting_ , shall we say."

He'd decided that he would remain just her friend, but at those words, Rossi's heart thudded once then felt like it came to a stop. His lungs froze. It had finally happened. She'd met a man. He'd made the wrong choice, left it too long…

"Happiest goth I've ever met in my life, and she wears these unbelievable platform boots," continued Pip, oblivious to his near heart failure. The feminine pronoun helped normal cardio-pulmonary service resume and Rossi could breathe again. "I've no idea how she walks in them, but she makes it look good, that's for sure. Nutty as a sack of squirrels. We got talking the first night." Pip giggled. "I held the door open for her as we left the conference centre. As soon as she got outside, she put up this black umbrella and I screamed. For a second, I swear to God, I thought she'd turned into a bat."

Rossi managed to laugh along with her, starting to feel a little silly for over-reacting.

"Once we'd sorted ourselves out, we exchanged pleasantries and went out for dinner together. I never really thought anything of it, but she ambushed me when I stopped for coffee on the way in this morning and gave me this." Pip handed him a thin file. "She works at the Navy Yard in DC as their forensic scientist and they've got a missing colleague. There's no leads and lots of lies, and she wanted someone to take a look, but...unofficially. It's delicate. She asked me, I'm asking you." Pip winked. "I'm a good person to have a favour in with."

"I'll hold you to that."

"I didn't doubt it," replied Pip with a laugh. "What do you think?"

"The Navy Yard?" mused Rossi, thinking aloud. "Their major crimes team is led by a former Marine, isn't it? Builds boats in his basement, or so I've heard."

"That's him." Pip nodded, a mischievous smirk starting to appear as she waited for him to follow the train of thought all the way to the last stop. "Do you ever wonder how he gets them out afterwards?"

"No, I hadn't, actually," said Rossi with a smile, although he would now she'd mentioned it. "Isn't he friends with that moody bald guy? The one who has an office on the eighth floor but never uses it?" Pip nodded again and Rossi paused, thinking hard. There was something else about those two. "Hang on; didn't they marry each other's ex-wives or something? Is that why this isn't coming through him?"

Pip laughed. "Not quite, but close enough. As for the why? It's a bit complicated, but let's just say this isn't coming from front line Agents for a reason."

Rossi tucked the file under some others on his desk, out of sight. "I'll have a look. Leave it with me."

"Thanks Dave. Appreciate it." Pip swept out just as news of another case in the Hamptons came in.

* * *

Looking round the crime scene was bad enough. Seeing the grief of Captain Downey, even through the office blinds, cut Rossi to the core. The Captain collapsed in Morgan's arms, then pushed him away to huddle by himself on the floor, howling with despair. Rossi had to stop watching, had to turn away. He stared blankly at the information board as he blinked the tears away.

It was one thing to risk your life serving your country. To accept the risk that your family might lose you, that you might die doing it. To lose your family instead, for them to be murdered while you were away...Rossi swallowed, willing away the thickness in his throat. To lose your _kids_ like that...the cases with dead kids were always awful, but this was a special kind of awful that yanked at his heart.

Especially when the body count continued to rise. Another military family died while they were still flailing around with no leads. Another brave man serving his country lost his family. Another house, more bodies, more blood, more dead children.

And a lunatic in prison getting creepy fan mail apparently related to the case. As if the weird quotient for the month hadn't been reached already.

Rossi rang Pip that night from his hotel room. They didn't normally speak much while he was out on a case other than occasional work-related emails, but that night he just needed to hear her voice. Needed her to bicker with him long enough for his brain to be able to switch off so he could sleep. Sleep without seeing images from the case paraded before his unwilling eyes.

"What's wrong?" Pip never was one for the standard niceties when picking up the phone.

But then again, the fact that he'd phoned her at all was indication enough that something was wrong.

"American football is more interesting than rugby." It wasn't like he was a fan, but Pip had told him before she'd spent some time in the UK, during which she'd developed a genuine love of the British winter pastime. As well as a penchant for their speech mannerisms. Disparaging rugby seemed like the quickest and easiest way to start a disagreement.

There was a moment's silence, then a huff of understanding. With her focus firmly fixed on him, Pip didn't need telling outright: he didn't want to talk about it, he just wanted to spar with her.

"Big strong men wearing helmets and foot-thick padding? I don't think so," she replied sharply. "Game for wimps. Rugby is played by _real_ men."

"All of whom have cauliflower ears and missing teeth as a result of not wearing helmets and padding," retorted Rossi dismissively. "There's more money involved in football," he countered. "Money always makes things more interesting."

"Ha! Says the bestselling author with plenty. Only people with money think that. Besides, so does a scoring system that isn't _completely_ incomprehensible."

"Because rugby is _much_ better at that," said Rossi sarcastically. "A game where the number of points you get for a kick depends on why you're kicking it."

"At least you get to watch forty minutes of the game at a time, instead of in ten-minute bursts between the adverts."

"Gives you time to go to the bar," Rossi replied, grinning now. "Or flip the burgers. The cheerleaders are better too – athletic young ladies as opposed to…what, exactly?"

"Depends what you want to see – sport, or underdressed women leaping about?"

Rossi laughed, feeling the heaviness of the case lift a little. "I'm going to assume that's a trick question and plead the fifth."

"Men!" groaned Pip, but with good humour. "You're all the same."

"I don't really look at them anymore," he admitted, then wished he could claw the words back from the phone line. He couldn't, not without that comment sounding even more like the admission it really was.

There was a beat of silence.

"I don't blame you, they all look like they need feeding," said Pip, but slowly, not fired back as her other responses had been. There was almost a question in there somewhere…but not quite. She didn't want to tread that road, was wary of encouraging him.

Or at least that what it sounded like. Reason enough not to risk baring his heart. He'd overreacted that morning. He had it under control now.

"True," agreed Rossi. "Thank you."

Pip laughed. "What for? I won."

Rossi joined in the laughter, feeling better. "I don't think so. I did."

"Yeah, keep telling yourself that," she drawled. "You don't need to thank me, Dave," said Pip seriously. "It's my job."

"What? Cheering me up?"

"Anytime you need it."

The warmth that statement generated in his chest was enough to convince Rossi he would now be able to sleep easy.

"Thank you," he said again. "Good night Pip."

"Good night Dave."

* * *

She ended up dead, their UnSub. Inevitable, probably. Such a perfect storm of circumstances, combining to produce a desperate killer. A psychopath born into the Bosnian-Serbian conflict, raised during the destruction and invasion of her adopted town of Srebrenica. She'd escaped the massacre and the mass graves that went with it, but the damage had already been done.

She'd killed three times before: Croatia, Italy and England, and now there were two American families to add to the list.

And Foyet was Karl Arnold's admiring fan, just to add to everything else. He'd known Hotch would visit The Fox in prison. Foyet was toying with Hotch, torturing him. It was both frustrating and upsetting to watch, for everyone. A ghastly reminder of the one that got away, the one they hadn't found no matter how hard they all looked. Rossi could see how rattled Hotch was under the calm façade he wore as a mask, and it scared the hell out of him. If Hotch caught Foyet without back up, there wouldn't be a trial. Foyet's death was already foretold in the steely glint in Hotch's eyes.

* * *

Rossi settled himself with a tumbler of scotch at the back of the jet as they flew home and leafed through the file Pip had given him. In his opinion, her Navy friends had been right to be concerned about their missing colleague. Rossi scribbled busily away in the margins, aware of, but not taking any notice of the interest of the rest of the team. He occasionally worked on flights home but would generally sleep, or read a book. To be working away so industriously on the plane was most unlike him, but Rossi needed the distraction. Anything to avoid thinking about the case. Or Foyet, and what he was doing to Hotch.

Fatigue crept up on him, the exhaustion washing over him in slow waves. The strain of the case, of concern over Hotch and by extension, Foyet; it all combined so that by the time they arrived back at the office, Rossi could barely keep his eyes open. In hindsight, the scotch probably hadn't been a good idea.

Pip was at her desk, so Rossi made his way over to give her the now extensively annotated Navy case file. He intended to just hand it off and then go home for some sleep.

"Here," he said wearily. "Give this to your gothic friend. Hopefully it'll help them find their missing Mossad officer."

Pip graced him with a megawatt smile. "Thanks, Dave." She tucked the file away in her bag, then looked up at him, the smile faltering round the edges a little the longer she studied him.

"Dinner?" she asked.

He wanted to say yes, but felt so bone weary that he knew he wouldn't be much company.

"Rain check?" he said reluctantly. "I'm dead on my feet."

"Take out." As ever, Pip with the compromise. "Nothing fancy, there's a new pizza delivery place Leon recommended I've been meaning to try. Consider yourself my Guinea pig. I'll make it the quickest wrap and close in history."

Rossi smiled. "Ok." Best of both worlds. Food he didn't have to cook for himself and her company.

It was good pizza in the end, although Rossi barely tasted it he was so tired. The bottle of beer Pip produced to drink with it was completely wasted on him. She herded him to bed shortly after they finished eating, shushing his half-hearted protests about not having any clean clothes for the morning. Pip had driven them home, and his go-bag had been forgotten in his dopey state – it was still in his car at the office.

"We'll talk about remedying that in the morning if you want, Dave."

He still couldn't relax fully until she joined him under the duvet, Rossi moulding himself around her, holding her close. Then sleep came, swift and merciless.

* * *

 _A/n: The o _bservant among you will have already _ _spotted my references to other series I'm a fan of. The list of interwoven stories (kinda) grows daily. Points w _ _ill be awarded for those who spot _ _ _ _all of them...Forestwytch__________


	26. 100 (S5E9)

_A/N: Well done to Guest for spotting the mention of Abs from NCIS. There's another couple of well-loved characters hinted at that nobody has picked up yet...any Closer/Major Crimes fans out there? ;-)_

 _100 (S5E9)_

 _ **You have not lived today until you have done something for someone who can never repay you ― John Bunyan**_

 _Foyet was dead._ Rossi had seen that coming. No great loss there.

 _Haley was dead._ They'd all heard it happen. There were times when Rossi thought he could _still_ hear it happening.

 _Sam Kassmeyer was dead._ He died trying to keep Hayley safe. It hadn't worked.

 _Hotch was a mess._ Of course he was. He'd lost the love of his life, who wouldn't be?

 _Strauss was out for blood._ Not if he had anything to say about it. _Bitch_.

* * *

Rossi was exhausted. The bags under his eyes almost matched the ones under Hotch's. He just grunted absently when Strauss spoke, unable to meet her gaze. She reminded him of an affronted duck with that pouting frown. She probably thought it made her look imposing. It didn't. If he'd looked up right then, he'd have either finally lost his temper with her or laughed at her, neither of which would have helped Hotch and the rest of the team any.

It had been bad enough going through it first time around, without being made to relive it for the record, to justify every move Hotch had made, every decision he'd taken. Strauss wanted to know why Foyet had been killed rather than captured. She wanted her little drama, played out in front of witnesses.

She wanted a sequence of events she could string together that would hang Hotch out to dry.

Rossi had extremely limited patience with the witchhunt circus she'd created. Not that he would have had much under normal circumstances, but right then he simply just didn't have the energy to keep his anger _completely_ in check.

Since it had all happened, he'd been splitting his time outside work between Hotch and Pip, and had barely been home. One to be the shoulder to lean on, the other to be the one doing the leaning. Rossi would never have been able to get Hotch through arranging Hayley's funeral without Pip's understanding and support. Hotch normally held everything inside, so when he was pushed too far and had to let it all out, it was like a dam bursting, or an avalanche: brutal, all-consuming and totally destructive. It had been horribly painful to watch.

In his role as Hotch's longest-standing friend, it fell to Rossi to help him through the worst thing that had ever happened to him. That meant lots of late nights at Hotch's place and it meant several dreadful hangovers. It also meant nightmares, for both Aaron and Jack, so sleep for Rossi had become a rare commodity. On top of that, he was the one to contact the funeral directors. He had been the one to organise the flowers. Hotch faced each question about the funeral with a vacant stare and left Rossi to decide what would be best. It was a draining experience.

In turn, Pip was the one to help Rossi. He had clothes at her place now, and more - he'd practically moved in. Hotch lived much nearer her than to Rossi's mansion and it was easier to crash at her place than drive home on nights he couldn't bear sleeping on Hotch's hateful couch. It was fine to sit on, but not to sleep, somehow there was always a lumpy bit digging into his back.

Rossi wanted to be nearby in case they needed him, a bit of foresight that paid off more than once. Pip made no complaints about his coming and going at all hours, always leaving something in the microwave for him to eat in the evenings, always ready with a coffee or a scotch or a hug if he needed it. She even moved Mudgie in with her temporarily, rather than leaving him to be cared for by his housekeeper. Rossi saw more of his dog at her place than he would have at his own in the past two weeks.

Between all that, the work went on. Only consulting work, granted; they were grounded while Strauss carried out her little dog and pony show, but the piles of files felt larger than usual, and they were a man down. Pip did what she was able to spread the work around as much as possible, marshalling her team to lend help however they could, but it still felt overwhelming. Rishi's replacement had a baptism of fire, landing right in the middle of the Foyet aftermath.

Rossi still wasn't sure Floyd Griffin would stay. The kid was maybe twenty-three but looked about fifteen, with the ghosts of teenage acne still emblazoned across his face. Bright, no doubt about that - he had an IQ closer to Reid's than anyone else's. Bright, but with that came a lifetime of learning and very little real-world experience. His first day in the BAU had probably been rather a shock, and Rossi wouldn't blame him if he wanted to leave. Being presented with the costs of Foyet's death, financially as well as figuratively on one's first day at work was a hell of a way to start one's career.

Pip did what she could with the work, but still Rossi was stretched too thin, trying to do too much. Hotch held up a brave face for Jack, but privately was a broken man. Rossi was the one that bore that burden. The team was still nominally in Morgan's hands, but everyone turned to Rossi for assistance instead, all hoping to seek some wisdom, some…some _insight_ he'd learned through his considerable experience in the BAU. Anything that would help them deal with what had happened. Not that he had any, but he'd probably saved the Bureau shrinks quite a few sessions. He bore that burden too. Rossi felt like he was carrying the world.

And through it all, Pip carried _him_.

So by the time Strauss sat him down to "evaluate" what had happened, Rossi's control was running on empty. He was sleep deprived and emotionally drained from being Hotch's sole grief outlet. More than that, he was angry at the woman sitting in front of him.

Determined she wasn't going to get this all her own way, Rossi started his interview with a quip about gold prices. Pip had helped him there too. She'd given him a brief rundown of the recent history of Erin Strauss and Rossi had no qualms about using what he knew to irk the Director a little. She'd lost a lot of money recently thanks to some poor decisions she'd made playing the commodities markets, and he couldn't help but wonder if she was hoping for a promotion and a pay raise for getting rid of Hotch - a man the Bureau had grown very nervous about in the last few months.

He knew he'd struck a nerve when she turned off the recorder to try and remonstrate with him. Tired as he was, Rossi grinned inside. He'd spent more than two years being Pip's verbal sparring partner, and Strauss had _nothing_ on her. Pip could eat a bowl of alphabet soup and _shit_ a better argument than Strauss. He shot her down without even trying.

Score: Strauss: 0, Rossi: 1. _Game on._

Then she tried to justify the post mortem she was doing on the events of _that_ day. Rossi threw the word "bureaucrat" at her like an insult and watched smugly as the barb struck home.

Score: Strauss: 0, Rossi: 2.

She questioned their decision to wait to breach the apartment they'd tracked Foyet to. Rossi gave up scoring points, and just told her, secure in the knowledge that he'd already made his opinion of the interview abundantly clear.

But even so, how could you explain to a career desk jockey how it felt to be waiting outside, waiting for it to be the right moment to go? How it felt just to be still, when every nerve and muscle and sinew _screamed_ for action? The endless watching and the impatient pacing up and down? How could he put into words the tension, and the bitter tang of unspent adrenaline adding to the acrid scent of sweat in the air? To describe the racing hearts and irritation of chafing vests and the constant thought that they might be too late, that by waiting, Foyet was getting further away?

He did his best.

At least killing Foyet was the easy part to explain, because Rossi agreed with what Hotch had done. Whether it was down to his Italian heritage, or his brief association with the gangsters in Long Island, he didn't know. He didn't care to examine the reasons. Rossi saw nothing wrong in Hotch's actions.

When loved ones were threatened, all rules cease to exist.

Was it better to have a chance to say goodbye? Or was it worse than not being able to? A question Rossi didn't know the answer to.

What he _did_ know with a certainty, was that if it had been _Pip_ that Foyet had killed, that if it had been _her_ death the team heard broadcast; then no power in heaven, no force on Earth, could have stopped him killing Foyet in the most violent, brutal manner possible.

Foyet was wearing a vest so when shooting the bastard didn't work, Hotch beat him to death with his bare hands, because nothing else would have stopped him from killing Jack.

Rossi knew he would have done a lot worse.

* * *

Hotch gave them all a little nod as he strode back into the conference room where the team was keeping Jack amused. Whether it was what the team had said, or something Hotch had said, Rossi would probably never know, but that nod told him everything. Strauss had backed down. Agreed that Hotch's actions were justified. He made his way round the table to give Hotch a hug, an action that had become automatic over the last couple of weeks. But Hotch held up Jack in front of him like a shield, and Rossi had to settle for laying a comforting hand on his arm.

It was a good thing, he decided, Hotch's withdrawal from his help. Hotch had staggered, bowed under the grief of losing Hayley in such a fashion, and Rossi had held him up while he regained his balance in the world. Now that Hotch could stand on his own two feet again, he'd retreated a little, wanting to focus on Jack.

Pip scooped Rossi up on her way out that evening, completely ignoring his protests about the piles of work that still needed doing. She tore into his office like a whirlwind and bullied him into leaving his work unfinished, into climbing into his coat and into the elevator. He started to doze off in the truck as she drove him back to her place once more, Pip calming her usual driving style to let him drowse. Somewhat, anyway. It was less like being part of evasive manoeuvres on a battlefield and more like a high-speed police chase, but it was the thought that counted. Rossi smiled in his sleep.

He never remembered waking once she'd parked, nor climbing the stairs with her to her attic apartment. He must have done both, because he woke in her bed in the middle of the night with Pip's arm secured protectively around him. Their usual positions were reversed, Pip behind him and holding him close to her. Rossi felt Mudgie roll over at the base of the bed and drape himself over his feet. He closed his eyes again, letting Pip do the same for him as he'd done for Hotch. Just be there.


	27. The Slave of Duty (S5E10)

_The Slave of Duty (S5E10)_

 _ **Let me take a minute to say that I love bossy women. Some people hate the word, and I understand how "bossy" can seem like a shitty way to describe a woman with a determined point of view, but for me, a bossy woman is someone to search out and celebrate. A bossy woman is someone who cares and commits and is a natural leader ― Amy Poehler**_

Hayley's funeral was beautiful, at least as far as such occasions could be. Hotch managed well all the way through the service, but Rossi watched his friend get more and more withdrawn at the wake. Hotch was trying to hide the grief from the stream of people wishing to express their condolences, and his expression was becoming more fixed, more stony, with each well-meant hug or handshake. Eventually, Rossi couldn't watch any longer and rescued him, luring him outside with a glass of scotch.

The brief flash of gratitude that he saw crossing Hotch's face told Rossi he'd made the right choice. A thought that spawned a conversation regarding Hotch's future with the Bureau. It wasn't a decision Rossi could make for him, but he could tell Hotch that whatever choice he made would be the right one. That he trusted Hotch's judgement of that. That he was a good father.

Then they got called away on a case. Away from the wake, away from Hotch, who needed them. It was heart-breaking and dissecting the case on the jet to Nashville while still in their funeral best just felt so wrong.

* * *

Pip phoned him that evening with the news that the following day, Strauss was going to offer Hotch retirement. She was seething, evidenced by the fact that she'd called him to pass on the news at all. Rossi could hear the floorboards creaking as Pip paced her tiny living room.

"The investigation didn't go her way, so now she's going to try to guilt him into falling on his own sword! I could kill her!"

Rossi tried for levity to calm her down. "Well, don't. I can't help you from Tennessee."

"I'm more than capable of doing it without help," she growled, and for some reason, Rossi believed that without question. "To spring it on him _the day after his wife's funeral,_ that's…that's just _evil_."

Humour hadn't worked, so maybe logic would. "Well, she's made the decision to offer, so now it'll be up to Hotch to make his decision," said Rossi evenly. "There's nothing we can do about it. If he decides to come back, he comes back. Whether or not she offered him retirement won't matter. If he doesn't, then at least he'll be financially secure enough to take good care of Jack. It's not a completely bad deal."

"That's what makes it evil," spat Pip. "She's made it so getting her own way will look _tempting_."

Rossi had to grin to himself. He wished he could see her, what she looked like in that moment. Pip with her hackles up was a glorious sight to see, provided it wasn't aimed at him. He could imagine her, hair wild and crackling with energy, eyes bright with fire and snapping with fury. All accompanied by a sonata in floorboard squeak, played by her feet as she strode up and down the room. He did his best to smother the chuckle that burst forth at the image but couldn't manage it entirely.

Mount Pip erupted like the volcano she really was. "You're _laughing_ at me, aren't you?" she cried. "You _fucking asshole!_ "

By that point Rossi was definitely laughing. "Not you!" he lied, between gasps for breath. "I was playing "Name That Tune" with what I could hear from your floor."

Pip sniggered, then laughed outright. Rossi felt a little surge of triumph that made him giddy.

"Besides, you're beautiful when you're angry." Rossi heard the voice speak, and even had time to mentally agree, before he realised he was the one that said it.

"I doubt it," was the terse response. Her temper hadn't completely dissipated; he could still hear her floorboards singing.

Rossi cleared his throat. "Look, Hotch will make the right decision," he said, desperate to get back to the reason she'd phoned. "Whatever that may be."

"That's not the point." So, she'd decided to ignore his untimely admission.

"I know," Rossi sighed. "But other than something criminal, there's nothing either of us can do about it. Or her."

"Not yet." The steel in her tone made those two words a promise. Pip was calmer, no longer pacing. Probably much to the relief of Todd and Leon in the apartment below.

"No, not yet," he agreed gently. "You good?"

Pip sighed gustily. "Better. How about you? Sorry, I just sort of blew up at you."

"It's fine," Rossi reassured her. "I'm ok. No worse than normal, as horrible as that sounds."

"Just the usual depravity from the shallow end of the gene pool?"

Rossi managed a half-hearted laugh. "Something like that. I don't know what you've seen of the case from your end, but we're chasing an UnSub who tries to seduce his victims before he kills them. The works: rose petals, romantic dinner, scented candles, the whole nine yards. It's a fantasy, and when the girl breaks the fantasy, they die."

"Nice guy. Wonder who pissed him off so much that he's trying to recreate it?"

"You know what? That's a really good question," said Rossi. "I'll look into that."

"No problem."

Rossi yawned. "It's been a long day; I'm going to get some shut eye. Good night Pip."

"Good night Dave."

He felt safe passing on the news of Strauss's offer to Hotch when Rossi saw Morgan in the morning. Hotch had phoned while he was driving, the call delaying his arrival back to where the team had based themselves.

Sensing an opportunity to sound out Morgan's intentions regarding the leadership of the BAU, Rossi asked outright how Morgan would feel if Hotch came back as team leader. The response he got was something that put a smile on Rossi's face on and off for the rest of the day. Morgan's loyalty was heart-warming, especially given the doubts he'd displayed only months previously.

* * *

Pip's insight didn't help them find the UnSub, but it did help confirm his identity once they found him. With Joe Belser in custody, they'd flown back from Nashville early afternoon, meaning Rossi had plenty of time to get the paperwork from the case dealt with while the sun was still in the sky. When he delivered his files to Pip, Rossi offered subtly to take her out for the afternoon to enjoy it. She waved a casual hand at the pile of work on her desk and shook her head. _He_ might be able to sneak out early, but she couldn't.

With time to kill, Rossi went to see Hotch. Jessica, Hotch's sister-in-law, answered the door with Jack in her arms, the boy's weight resting casually against one hip.

"Agent Rossi! Nice to see you," she said. "I haven't seen you since…" She swallowed, then set Jack down and ushered him back towards the couch. "Jack, honey, go play with your crayons for a moment."

The funeral. The last time they'd seen each other had been Hayley's funeral.

"How are you doing?" asked Rossi once Jack was more or less out of earshot.

Jessica tried to smile, but it didn't really work. "Oh, well. You know. Some days better than others."

Rossi nodded. He knew, all too well. "Let me know if you need anything. Is Aaron around?"

Jessica shook her head. "He went out about an hour ago; he didn't tell me where he was going. I can call him if it's urgent?"

"No, no, everything's fine," he reassured her. "I just wanted to see how he was. I think I know where to find him. Take care of yourself, Jessica. Bye Jack!" he added, a little louder for Jack's benefit.

"Bye Uncle Dave." Jack was engrossed in his colouring and didn't even look up.

Rossi exchanged a fond smile with Jessica at the moniker Jack had given him. After the amount of time he'd spent with the two Hotchners over the last few weeks, Jack had apparently decided he was family. That was absolutely fine by Rossi.

As expected, Rossi found Hotch sitting by Hayley's graveside. He thought he knew why Hotch was there. To tell Hayley he had decided to come back to the BAU.

Hotch showed no surprise that Rossi knew his decision before he'd told anyone. They'd known each other too long for that. Aaron was Jack's hero, out fighting the bad guys. There's no way he'd give that up. Rossi had known that from the start, he'd just been waiting for Hotch to realise it.

Hotch disputed Rossi's reason for his being at Hayley's grave, pointing out that Hayley didn't need to be told, because she already knew.

"Speaking of things already known," he added, "you knew what Strauss had offered me before I called you." Hotch looked up from his seat on the ground just in time to see the guilty look Rossi tried to conceal.

He grimaced, knowing he'd been caught. "Yes, I suppose I did," Rossi admitted.

"Harker?" there was no anger or judgement in Hotch's voice, just curiosity.

Rossi nodded. "Pip was _furious_. When she found out what Erin had planned, she called me to rant about how unfair it was." Rossi chuckled as Hotch smiled faintly. "She's very protective of you. Of all of us, but you're high up in her esteem."

"Second only to you, I suspect," replied Hotch. "Have you noticed she still calls me Agent Hotchner no matter how many times I ask her just to call me Hotch? At least you get first name terms."

"I'm a little different." Rossi smirked. "At least, that's what she says. Who am I to argue?" He cocked his head. "You know it's a sign of respect, don't you?" Hotch nodded. "Although I think she just lulls people into a false sense of security so she can go for the jugular," Rossi added.

"Don't I know it!" said Hotch, a little ruefully. "First thing she did when we got back from the case in Hampton, was tell me off for letting The Fox get under my skin. She was really quite fierce about it. Told me in no uncertain terms that I needed to buck up a bit if I wanted to be back charge of the BAU where I belonged." Hotch twitched his lips wryly and nodded again when Rossi's eyes widened in shock.

"Yes, she knew what I planned even before I spoke to Morgan, I knew that before the case in Albuquerque," he continued. "I was too taken aback to respond immediately and Harker…she just kept on going. It was like being scolded by a runaway freight train. Then she thumped a pile of files on my desk and proceeded to list every mistake I'd made, in every single one, in order, from memory. When I started to look through the pile, she told me she'd corrected them where she could, and marked the ones she couldn't. All I had to do was initial each change she'd made and follow the purple tags to the rest. She stood there with her hands on her hips and said it was her job to protect me from my mistakes, but that I was making her job harder and that I needed to focus more. Reminded me of my fourth-grade math teacher – a woman who completely terrified me, I might add. All I could do was nod and agree."

Rossi whistled in disbelief and admiration. Hotch smiled a little. "I told you she could be scary," he said.

"Trust me, I don't need convincing," said Rossi wryly.

"I don't know how Gideon found her, but I'm glad he did. She runs AST as a very tight ship, it's made everything else easier," added Hotch. "You never met the guy who was there before, but somehow, she gets things done that he wouldn't even have attempted. She's the reason we can just _do_ something while we're out on a case, instead of having to stop and work out _how_. You realise she'd outrank us both if she was still in the field?" he asked seriously. "It shows."

"Yes...yes it does."

That comment spawned a whole host of ideas about Pip's past as Rossi drove to her place. That very first night in Frazer's, she said that she'd "served", but hadn't elaborated then or since. He'd never seen her military file, simply because there was no reason he would just come across it. He had to admit he was curious though, it was reasonable to assume she was used to command. In theory, he'd be able to request her file, but he wouldn't. He'd learned his lesson about digging into things she hadn't told him about, despite his burning curiosity.

Pip wasn't home when he let himself into her apartment, so Rossi happily rolled up his sleeves and set to work in her kitchen. He planned to cook her something special to show his appreciation of all the unwavering support she'd given him over the last few weeks. The idea had come to him while talking to Hotch. Cooking always relaxed him, and recently Rossi had been too tired to do more than either warm up whatever Pip had left for him or get a takeout. That day, with a rare afternoon to himself, he had time to _create_ in the kitchen, just for her.

* * *

"Dave, whatever that is, it smells amazing!" called Pip when she arrived home just over two hours later. By then, Rossi had thoroughly raided her cupboards and made a quick trip to the grocery store to pick up the few items he needed that she didn't have.

"That's the idea!" he replied, still stirring a pot on the stove. "How did you know it was me?"

"Your car's outside and the place smells like a gourmet paradise. Who else would it be?" replied Pip with a laugh, slamming her door shut with gusto. "Anything I can do to help?"

Rossi could hear the long-familiar sounds of Pip landing after a day at the BAU: coat off and thrown haphazardly in the direction of the beanbag, backpack dropped where she stood. Shoes would get flung off by the sofa, sometimes under the coffee table, sometimes sailing off to be found who-knows-where in the morning. Outwardly, it looked like the untidy way she lived should be chaos, only held in check by the fact that her apartment wasn't big enough to be a mess. In reality, Pip knew where everything was, the haphazard nature of her organisation merely a smokescreen. A state of affairs that mirrored her perfectly.

"Nope!" he called back. "Just sit down; I'll bring you a glass of wine." There was such a thing as cooking for a lady properly, and that didn't involve her helping. Her job was to sit back and enjoy it.

"Ooh, that sounds heavenly. Let me just get the suit off first." She darted past the kitchen doorway on her way to the bedroom to divest herself the business pantsuit she'd worn to work.

Rossi poured the Chianti he'd opened an hour ago to breathe, and took the glass through to the living room, perching it on the coffee table in front of where she normally sat. Pip was just emerging from her bedroom as he turned, pulling a t-shirt over her head. For a moment, Rossi was treated to the sight of a pleasurable expanse of bare skin before she pulled the shirt down. The dark straps of the twin knife holsters she wore across her torso stood out starkly.

Rossi cleared his throat. "Uh, you're still wearing your knives."

Pip's brows furrowed. "I am?" She pulled out the neck of the t-shirt, peering comically down the front. "I am. Oops." She looked up from her examination of the contents of her shirt and grinned at him. "Forgot about those. I'll be right back."

Rossi had the same view as before but from the other side, in more than one respect, as Pip stripped the t-shirt up and over her head before the door closed behind her. The exit wounds were much larger than the entry wounds on her front, and far more noticeable; the two shots close together over her stomach almost formed one conjoined scar on her back. Something he hadn't realised from the three times he'd seen her naked, or nearly so. It was a stark reminder of what she'd been through before.

"It's about time I got so used to wearing them again that I don't notice," commented Pip as she exited her bedroom for the second time in as many minutes. Her words were slightly muffled as she dragged the t-shirt back over her head. "Even if it does feel like I'm wearing a second bra."

Rossi chuckled. "You don't take them off at home? Damon's not going anywhere."

"No." Pip shook her head. "I don't. I'm not going to be surprised in my own home again." She shrugged. "You carry a gun, I carry them. It's as natural as breathing. Now, where's that wine?"

Dinner was a huge success. Pip leaned back on the sofa clutching her stomach.

"Ooh, I couldn't eat another bite. I'm not sure I can even move. That was _amazing_. What brought all this on? I've been treated like a princess all evening."

"Nothing less than you deserve after putting up with me over the last few weeks," disputed Rossi. "I basically moved in, along with my dog. I treated your home like a hotel, I ate your food, drank your booze. I know I frequently woke you up when I got in late or left early. I also know I was surly and uncooperative in the mornings, even when you'd made breakfast and coffee for me."

"Nothing new about you being a grouch in the mornings, Dave," interjected Pip with a broad grin. "You're a regular bear when you first wake up. But thank you for this evening. You didn't have to."

"I know, but I wanted to," he insisted, before changing the subject. "I never asked about your Navy friends – did they get their Agent back?"

Pip smiled and nodded. "Battered and bruised, but yes. Your idea about identifying the unusual, rather than the usual terrorist purchases paid off. There was something they could track, and it led right to where they needed to go. They're a resourceful bunch to have a favour in with. Favours like that make the job easier."

Rossi grinned. "Speaking of making the job easier, Hotch told me what you said to him when we got back from the Hamptons."

Pip threw back her head and laughed. "I wondered if he might. I did get a bit…overenthusiastic with him."

"Hotch and I both agree that you're scary."

Pip raised her wine glass. "I'll drink to that." Rossi raised his glass too, but the chime of their meeting was lost in the laughter.


	28. Retaliation (S5E11)

_Retaliation (S5E11)_

 _ **Grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference - Alcoholics Anonymous p. 40-41**_

"We got him," said Rossi quietly into his cell, "and the girl's ok. He's still in transit, so all the paperwork needs doing when he gets here. It's gone ten o'clock already, I'm guessing we won't fly home until tomorrow morning."

"Good," replied Pip on the other end of the line. "I'll extend your hotel rooms. Means you can all try and get some sleep. I had to translate JJ's last email to Phillips, poor guy had no idea what she was trying to ask him for."

Rossi chuckled, then yawned. "It's been a long couple of days."

"Always is when there's a missing kid."

"What about you, when do you get to go home?" asked Rossi.

"Oh, I'll neaten up and fall out of here in an hour or so I guess, once I've had confirmation regarding your flight plan for the trip home," replied Pip airily. "I can't leave until Schrader is in local custody and I know you're all safe in your beds, but I'll kick Phillips and Griffin out as soon as I'm off the phone."

"Ok. See you in the morning."

"Get some sleep!" ordered Pip sternly.

Rossi smiled. "Yes ma'am."

"Don't call me ma'am!" Pip laughed and hung up, just as the news came through that Bunting was dead, Emily was injured, and Schrader had escaped with the help of a previously unknown accomplice. Rossi looked down at his cell, wondering if he ought to call Pip back and tell her not to let her team go home just yet.

He needn't have worried, JJ was on the phone immediately to let the office know they'd be staying in Lockport. Rossi looked down as his phone beeped in his hand, notifying him of a text message.

" _Spoke too soon. Let me know if you need anything. We're working all the time you are. P."_

* * *

Two hours later, Emily was back with them. She looked a little battered and bruised, and a lot pissed off. Morgan took her down the hall to try a cognitive interview, while the rest of them tried to reconcile the profile they'd generated with Schrader's actions. To find him, they'd have to start all over again.

2am rolled around with no progress. Rossi craved some of Pip's hot, strong morning coffee. Even just a mouthful. He was starting to consider asking for an IV drip so he could mainline his caffeine. _Anything_ would be an improvement on trying to drink it.

Cop shop coffee was a breed all of its own, usually terrible. It came either cold, or so hot it could have been heated by thermo-nuclear fusion. Rossi had consumed a lot of bad coffee over the years, but the stuff in Lockport police station was… _uniquely_ awful. Not only was it lukewarm and peculiarly gritty, Rossi was fairly confident he'd washed dishes in thicker at some point in his life. There was no milk, but that wasn't a reasonable reason for the bottom of the cup to be visible through the coffee. Coffee so weak you could read through it ought to be impossible, but somehow, they'd managed it.

Four hours and three pots of the vile stuff between them later, Rossi gave in and drove to the nearest coffee shop so the team could at least drink something hot that they didn't have to chew or pick out of their teeth. He threw four sugars into his cup in lieu of actual breakfast and drove back to the station with the team's order balanced on the passenger seat. He made the most of the privacy the Suburban offered and phoned Pip as he drove.

"Morning!" trilled Pip brightly. "What's up?" She sounded remarkably chirpy and energetic for not-quite 6am, even over speakerphone. "Two phone calls while you're away, should I be honoured or concerned? You need something? Anything? Whatever you need. I had Phillips extend your hotel rooms again, just in case, not any of you actually used them last night for anything other than to store your bags in…"

"Nothing's wrong," he reassured her. "I'm just doing a coffee run, the stuff they drink at the station here is _dreadful_. I think someone mixed filter coffee with instant in the pot. Until now, I've never had coffee I needed to strain before I could drink it. It's an experience I could have done without." Pip roared with laughter and Rossi smiled. At least someone was happy this morning.

"How are you managing on the crap they keep in the break room?" he asked.

"I dashed home about 3am and made myself a thermos of that new super strong Robusta I bought the other week, desperate measures and all that; it's heady stuff, I'll probably be awake for about a month." Pip managed that all in one breath and then giggled.

Rossi groaned with envy. At least that explained why she was quite so bouncy so early in the morning. "I could do with some of that."

"I'm sure. If I could pour it down the line to you, I would. I'll give you an emergency ration of it to go in your go-bag for next time. Now go on. Get back to work and find this lunatic so you can go to bed. I've got people here waiting with baited breath for me to boss them about."

Rossi laughed and hung up feeling rejuvenated, as if he'd absorbed some of Pip's industrial strength coffee via his ears.

* * *

Morgan did the caffeine run at 8am, none of them willing to drink a single drop more of the rubbish Lockport PD called coffee. By then, they'd all been awake for over twenty-four hours and the dark smudges under all their eyes were growing. No amount of coffee would solve that, nor the bone-deep weariness that came with it.

By 10am, Rossi felt like they were actually getting somewhere. Best laid plans were scuppered again once Schrader was dead. They'd found their man, but now there was a missing family to find.

And find them they did, although it took them all day. Everyone was exhausted, everyone was desperate to get home, but the whole team stood in the dank abandoned building to watch emotional reunion of the Muller family. Just basking in the love.

Rossi barely glanced up from his book when Hotch's cell rang as they were flying home. Everyone else was asleep, but despite being exhausted Rossi couldn't doze off. Unashamedly nosy, he strained his ears to listen as Hotch talked quietly on the phone.

"Hotchner…Hi…Yes, we're ok. Tired, but that's all." Hotch's eyes flicked over to where Emily was curled up, snoring lightly. "Yes, she's fine too." He smiled in response to something said. "Of course, I know how hard this was for everyone." Hotch stole a brief glance at Rossi, long enough to work out that he was listening. "You'll let him know?...Good…No, no problem at all…I will…You too." Hotch tucked his cell phone back into his jacket.

"You were listening." Hotch's quiet accusation came without malice or disapproval.

Rossi shrugged. "It's a small jet."

He pulled his cell from his pocket as it rang and glanced at the caller ID. Pip. Hotch just looked at him with a raised eyebrow as if he knew who was calling. On reflection, Rossi realised he probably did. The timing was too much of a coincidence, he had an idea it had been Pip who called Hotch only a moment before. He ducked into the galley area for some semblance of privacy.

"Hey. You ok?"

"Yes and no," said Pip. She sounded exasperated. "It's kinda long story, but I won't be there when you get back. I'm leaving now actually; I'm leaving Phillips in charge, he's going to do the paperwork with Agent Hotchner. I just wanted to let you know."

"What's wrong?"

"Did I mention it's a long story?" sniped Pip sharply, before she let out a deep sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. I shouldn't take it out on you."

Rossi was used to fielding the worst of Pip's temper, same as she did for him. On the Pip Harker scale, that volley barely even registered against background noise.

"It's ok, Pip, just tell me," he said gently.

Pip sighed again. "I'm coming down off that bloody coffee and Griffin has developed the most disgusting cold. There's snot _everywhere_. On top of that, now I've got an errand to run tonight before I can go home and sleep."

"What errand?" He should be used to cryptic answers and half-truths by now, but Rossi was too tired to beat about the bush.

"A meeting."

"Well, I can hang around if you're still going to be in the building…"

"Not that sort."

"What other sort of…" Oh. _Oh_. Rossi stopped in mid-sentence as understanding rushed through him, rapidly followed by a thread of worry. Underneath the frustration, she sounded wary, and it was that wariness that had finally clued him in on what she was talking about. The NA. She was going to a Narcotics Anonymous meeting and she didn't want to broadcast it to whoever was left in the office by telling him outright over the phone.

"Oh. Ok. Ah, are you…is everything…that is, you're not…?" His extensive vocabulary had apparently abandoned him for the time being. Rossi didn't want to pressure her into telling him anything she didn't want to, nor shout out his concern like an idiot while in a small enclosed space with no privacy. In trying to achieve both things he'd managed neither and sounded like a complete twit into the bargain.

She'd been to a meeting only the previous week, her usual once-a-month habit. He couldn't imagine anything from the case would be a trigger strong enough to make her want to go back to the opiates or attend meetings more regularly. Pip was fairly open with him about her previous problem and had told him in detail about what she'd done when he asked, along with what to do if she ever relapsed. Some addicts suffered psychological cravings long after the physical ones had been dealt with. From what he could see, Pip was lucky; she didn't struggle with that. She'd got clean and stayed that way. For her, the meetings had been about making friends in a time when she had none. People, who as fellow addicts, would understand what she'd done and not judge her for it.

But he couldn't help being a little anxious.

"I'm fine," she reassured him. Rossi could hear the soothing smile and knew she'd picked up on his burst of concern for her. The effect was somewhat ruined by Griffin sneezing explosively in the background. Repeatedly.

"Hear that?" Pip said drily, raising her voice over the soggy sound effects. "Looks worse than it sounds, if you can believe that. You should hear him cough, sounds like someone throwing a bag of gravel at a wall. I'm going to tell him not to come in tomorrow, I can't think with that racket going on." Pip breathed a sigh of relief as Griffin fell silent.

"Oh, that's better," she sighed. "He's either hyperventilated and passed out or drowned in his own bodily fluids. Either is fine with me as long as he's quiet, I've got a stinking headache. Anyway, there's a new addition that needs escorting, that's all. Not usually my responsibility, but I'm standing in for someone out, um, sick. It's a last-minute thing, kinda an emergency."

So, the newbie's sponsor had fallen off the wagon and Pip was picking up the pieces, even though she was already worn out. Rossi held back the sigh. At least it wasn't just him she tidied up after, but he had to wonder how Pip had ever coped before she had him to do the same for her.

"After that," continued Pip, "I think I'm going to go home, fall flat on my face on my bed and pass out."

"Sounds very similar to what I'm going to do. Home, bed, sleep 'til Thursday."

Pip laughed. "It's already Thursday, you've lost a couple of days there somewhere. Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment. I'd much rather go straight home too, but duty calls. I think my entire life can be summed up as "well, that didn't go as fucking planned"." She groaned as Griffin started sneezing again. "Here we go again. I'm outa here. See you tomorrow."

"Good night Pip."

"Good night Dave."


	29. Risky Business (S5E13)

_A/n: thank you for your continued love and support. Special shout out to Rossi's Lil Devil, my faithful reviewer: they'll get there, don't worry. Quite a bit to come before that happens, however. Trust me, it'll all be worth it ;-)_

* * *

 _Risky Business (S5E13)_

 _ **In my view, suicide is not really a wish for life to end. What is it then? It is the only way a powerless person can find to make everybody else look away from his shame. The wish is not to die, but to hide ― Orson Scott Card**_

Rossi cast a glance towards Pip's desk as he was herded in the direction of the jet. JJ had been particularly vocal about them taking a look at what was going on in Wyoming. Having received Hotch's approval for the team to open an equivocal death investigation into the multiple apparent suicides, she was relentless in her efforts to get them moving faster. Ideally, Rossi would have liked to talk to Pip before he left, just make sure she was ok. JJ wasn't the only one that had history with teen suicide of a close friend or family member and he strongly suspected there was going to be some things in the next few days that would exhume long-buried memories.

Pip merely flapped a file in his direction, already buried in paperwork. Griffin had been off sick for three days after bravely soldiering on for nearly a week, infecting everyone he came across. The case wasn't the only reason Rossi wanted to see how she was. Pip was starting to show not just the usual signs of stress and fatigue of covering for a colleague's sickness absence. She'd been off her food when they'd gone out the previous evening and if he was right, Pip was about to be the latest victim of the filthy cold Griffin had brought to the office to share. Half the agents in White Collar were already down with it, as well as dozens of others across different departments in the building, including most of Accounting.

They were just lucky that none of the profilers had caught it yet, but it was probably only a matter time. Starting, Rossi realised with a sinking feeling, with him. If Pip was going to pass on the bug to anyone, it would be him, if she hadn't done so already.

Rossi's first prediction quickly bore fruit: less than eight hours into their stay in Wyoming, Pip's latest email confirmed that she had become, in her own words, "a snot monster". Rossi had to chuckle, despite the odd looks he got from the others. What did concern him, however, was Pip's steadfast refusal of his suggestions to take it easy. All of them felt the pressure to stop whatever it was that was happening that caused these children to die, but it felt like Pip was taking it too personally. Rossi had been convinced at the time that there was more to the relatively bland story she'd told him of her friend's suicide at fourteen, and her prickliness over the case just confirmed it. She snapped and snarled at him when he tried to phone her, almost back to the pissed off pit bull-like temperament she'd treated him to in the first few months of their association.

He had every intention of taking her out to dinner and getting her to talk once he got back but offered to delay their evening out in light of the bug she'd picked up. Pip protested of course, told him she was fine, that the worst of the cold had already passed; but that didn't stop him worrying about her on the flight home three days later. Even Emily's little fairy tale that so utterly bemused Reid failed to divert his attention for more than a minute or two.

Kids killing themselves in a game of dare, of one-upmanship with neighbouring schools. It didn't get much more twisted, and normally, Rossi would be mentally perusing Mama Rosa's menu in anticipation of dinner with Pip and a chance for both of them to let out all the hurt. That evening, he was wondering if he could remember all the steps to his mother's cure-all chicken soup recipe. Phillips had added a note at the end of his last rambling missive to the tune of "the boss looks really sick but won't go home".

In other words, Pip was being unreasonably stubborn, practically a ground state of being for her. He knew the case had touched a nerve anyway, and now Phillips thought she was running a temperature and still trying to struggle on. Once they landed, Rossi was planning on getting Pip home, making sure she stayed there for a couple of days and medicating her with chicken soup until she sloshed whenever she moved.

* * *

Pip looked _dreadful_. That was the first thing that crossed Rossi's mind as the team trooped tiredly back into the bullpen. She was pale, but for two hectic spots of colour on her cheeks. Her eyes were glassy, and her skin was clammy, loose hair from her braid stuck to her face and neck with sweat.

Rossi dropped everything in his office and made his way back to Pip's desk. She was the only one left in the bullpen. Phillips had probably gone home as soon as they landed, Reid and Emily had packed up and gone almost immediately, along with Garcia. Morgan was making use of his new desk down the hall to ease some of the paperwork burden on Hotch, who was of course, still around somewhere.

Rossi perched himself on the back of Pip's desk and peered at her over one of her two computer screens. Pip's shirt was stuck to her too, enough that he could see the colour of her bra through it, and he wondered just how badly off she'd have to be before she gave in.

"You need to go home," he said. "You've sent Phillips home already; the team is back. Get some rest."

Pip shook her head wearily. "No, I've got to get this finished. I'm fine…"

"Have you looked in a mirror lately?" interrupted Rossi. "I've attended dead bodies that looked better."

Pip managed a rough laugh. "Thanks. That makes me feel _so_ much better," she said sarcastically, mopping her brow carelessly with a sleeve.

"Anytime," he said with a smile. "But seriously. Go. Home." Rossi punctuated his words by reaching over and removing the file Pip had been holding in her hands. He placed it firmly back on her desk. "That can wait until tomorrow. I'm sure Hotch won't mind."

"He's right, you know," said Hotch from behind them. "On all counts."

Rossi managed to avoid jumping like a startled rabbit, but only just. Hotch could move like a ninja when he wanted to, and Rossi hadn't heard him approach at all. Rossi craned his neck and spotted him standing at the railing, coat over one arm and briefcase in hand. Hotch was just on his way out, but the slightly mischievous look told Rossi that Hotch knew he'd surprised him and had set out deliberately to do so. Rossi narrowed his eyes as Hotch threaded his way through the bullpen to Pip's desk. Hotch just smiled, unconcerned at the threat of payback.

"Harker, go home," he reiterated. "You don't look at all well." He gestured to the coat over his arm. "I assumed you'd left already."

Pip groaned. "And now I'm outnumbered." She waved an admonitory finger at them both as if they were recalcitrant schoolboys in detention. "You realise this is mob rule? Ganging up on me like this?"

Rossi folded his arms and said nothing, trying to appear stern. Hotch just stared at her, apparently content that "stern" was how he looked most of the time.

She sighed. "Fine, fine. You win. Don't blame me if things aren't the way you want in the morning." Pip stood and swayed on her feet for a moment. "Oh. Ah, Dave? D'you think…d'you think you could drive me home please? I feel…a bit weird." Pip's hand blindly groped for her chair, her desk, anything to steady her balance. She found nothing. "Oh sh…"

Hotch managed to catch her as she keeled over unconscious; stopping Pip from dashing her brains out on the corner of her desk.

"Dave, call a paramedic!"

Rossi didn't need to be told twice.

* * *

"When can I leave?"

Rossi sighed and closed the door to Pip's hospital room behind him. Typical. There was no "hello", not even an acknowledgment that she'd overworked herself while battling a fever, and subsequently collapsed. No, a strident demand to leave was the first thing Pip said to him, and it was going to start a fight. He was supposed to be under strict orders not to get her worked up.

Pip had regained consciousness before the paramedics arrived, and immediately took exception to them being called. Then she'd started talking about a fire and calling out names neither Rossi nor Hotch knew. They'd ignored all her protests after that. Pip was obviously delirious, and needed medical intervention, regardless of her objections.

She objected her entire way to the ER, in between rambling desperate pleas about someone called Cody; only to pass out again in mid-rant as they wheeled her through the door. She'd been immediately dosed with an antipyretic, hooked up to a drip and admitted for observation overnight.

Her temperature had come down a little, enough that she was awake and lucid again, and able to have a visitor, but Pip wasn't going anywhere. The ER doctor had taken one look at her notes and gladly handed the task of informing Pip she was staying overnight to Rossi. It was the same doctor who had confined her to hospital for nearly a week after she'd been shot, and she was in no mood to face the wrath of Pip for a second time.

"Maybe tomorrow morning." Rossi ducked reflexively as a paper cup came sailing his way. Her aim was a little off, unsurprisingly, and the cup bounced harmlessly off the wall. He held his hands up defensively as she threatened him with another. "Hey, don't shoot the messenger!"

"You're the only one I can reach," grumbled Pip as he sat down next to her bed. "I tried to stand up, but I got all woozy again."

"That's the idea, Pip, you're not supposed to get out of bed," he replied steadily. "You had a high fever and they shot you with a sedative. They just want to make sure you get some rest."

"And how am I supposed to do that here?" she asked irritably. "I'd get more rest sleeping _under my_ _desk_. Can't they just give me some antibiotics or something and let me go home?" She was almost pleading now. "I _hate_ hospitals."

"I know. Me too," he admitted. Rossi gently took her hand. "You had me worried there for a second." When she'd fallen, it felt like his heart had first stopped, then resumed, but at triple-time. "Scared me shitless, actually."

Pip tightened her hand around his fingers and smiled. "Sorry. I was fine until I stood up. But I'm tougher than old boots, Dave, I'm not going anywhere." The sedatives were starting to kick in, her eyelids getting heavier by the second.

"Good."

"You just want my help with the new report forms," she teased, her eyes closing. "You hate change."

Rossi chuckled and felt the tight band of fear around his chest ease. If she had the wherewithal to make jokes at his expense, she was going to be ok. "True."

"Knew it. You're jus' worried you'd haveta do 'em by y'self. No' 'bout me a' all."

"You're a trouble magnet, I worry about you all the time," he disagreed with a smile. "Go to sleep."

"Dave? Don' leave m' here on m' own," she whispered. Her grip on his hand loosened as Pip finally lost her battle with the sedative.

"I'll stay with you. I promise."

* * *

It was inevitable that he fell asleep in the chair beside Pip's bed. A young nurse had tried to kick him out when visiting hours ended, but Rossi flashed his badge and bullied them into letting him stay. He had promised Pip, and he wasn't about to break that. But it had been a long day and he was tired.

Still, when he half-awoke to a gentle hand carding through his hair, all Rossi could do was murmur his approval and try and nuzzle further into the soothing contact.

A soft laugh woke him up the rest of the way. Rossi raised his head, realising it was resting on Pip's mattress. She ran her had through his hair one last time before stopping.

"If I ever need bribery material, footage of you purring and snuggling like an overgrown house cat will do perfectly," she teased.

"You're awake," mumbled Rossi, rubbing his eyes to rid them of the grittiness that always followed his attempts to sleep in peculiar places. A list which now included a plastic chair with his best friend's hospital bed as a pillow.

Pip shivered and drew the thin hospital blanket up over her shoulders. "Not by choice," she muttered.

"Did I wake you? Sorry, I don't usually snore…"

Pip snorted with amusement. "Hate to break it to you, Dave, but you do. If I let you stay on your back, you sound like a waste disposal unit with a spoon stuck in it. Usually I kick your feet and you turn over and stop."

Rossi just gaped at her. "Really?"

"Yes, really," said Pip with a smile. "Do I look like I care?"

Rossi sat up, wincing at the crackle from his spine. "Oof. I didn't intend on sleeping bent double." He glanced at his watch. Half two in the morning. Pip had been out for five hours, he for about two. Her fever had spiked again around midnight, leaving her moaning and twitching in her sleep.

"Did I wake you?" he repeated, eyes narrowing as he realised she'd avoided giving him an answer.

Pip averted her face from him and shook her head. "No," she said quietly.

Rossi catalogued Pip's body language, what little he could see since she had hidden everything below the neck under the blanket. Clenched jaw with bottom lip being thoroughly gnawed on. She was pale still, with dark circles under her eyes; testament to the hours she'd put in while under the weather. But her eyes were also red-rimmed and wouldn't meet his.

"Stop it." Now they had, he could see the ire rising in them. "No profiling."

"I don't need to be a profiler to know you had bad dreams," said Rossi gently, trying to head off the temper tantrum. "I could see that much before I dozed off myself." Pip just huffed. "You were talking about someone. Before, I mean. When you were hallucinating," he added. "Cody."

Pip shivered again, but Rossi didn't think it had anything to do with her temperature.

"Were the dreams something to do with him?"

Pip nodded and chomped down on her bottom lip, hard enough that Rossi leant over and tapped her on the chin in reprimand. Any harder and she would have drawn blood.

"You want me to guide you through it?" It was something they'd discussed many months ago while talking about Ian. Not a cognitive interview exactly, but something along the same lines. She'd refused then, but this time might be different. To Rossi's surprise, Pip nodded. "Ok. Close your eyes. Relax. I'm here, and we can stop whenever you want. Let me know when you're ready."

Rossi waited until Pip nodded again. "How old are you in the dream?" he asked, an easy place to start, because he thought he already knew.

"Fourteen," she whispered. "Cody was a little older, but not by much. We'd been fostered together before, you see, so they knew we wouldn't mind cramped quarters because we got on so well. He'd already been with the Cavanaughs for eight months when my smart mouth got me kicked out of my latest placement and Child Services had nowhere else to put me. I got his bedroom and he slept on a camp bed in the living room."

"What was it like seeing him again?"

Pip smiled absently. Her eyes were open now but she wasn't seeing the hospital room, or him. They were clouded with memory, seeing her friend again. "The first few days were brilliant. We'd not seen each other in years, and friends are hard to come by when you move around a lot. We had a lot to catch up on." The smile diminished as she continued. "But there was something wrong with him. I couldn't work out what it was, and it drove me _mad_. I tried everything. Threats, bribery, you name it, I got nowhere."

The smile had completely disappeared by now, replaced with a look of such heartache Rossi just wanted to pick her up and put her in his pocket to keep her safe from the world.

"And then late one night I found out what was wrong." Pip's voice broke and wavered. "I wish I hadn't! It was an accident! I didn't mean to! And I just…I ran, but I knew he'd seen me." Tears started to roll down Pip's cheeks and she brushed them away furiously. "And when I got up the next day, he was dead, and it was my fault."

Rossi captured the hand that had edged out from under the blanket and stroked soothing circles across the back of it with his thumb.

"Unless you killed him personally, I doubt you caused his death at the ripe age of fourteen." He clenched his hand around hers. "You're not a cold-blooded killer, Pip."

Months later, he would wish he'd paid more attention to the bitter, disbelieving snort of dark amusement, and the murmur that went with it, too low to be consciously heard at the time. It sounded like "if only you knew" - but of course that was impossible.

"You want to keep going?" he asked. Pip scrubbed her face dry with her free hand and sniffed most unattractively, before nodding and closing her eyes again. It wasn't to help her recall, she just didn't want to see his face as she told him. He knew her plenty well enough to know that without asking. "Ok. Back to that night. Why were you awake?"

"It was hot. Really hot, and I had trouble sleeping. The Cavanaughs didn't have aircon."

"Were the windows open?"

Pip nodded, then grimaced. "The whole place reeked of burgers. Mrs Cavanaugh always kept the windows closed because the extract fan from the takeaway place down the street blew straight at the living room, but she was away for the weekend."

"What did you do?"

"I got up for a glass of water."

"Why?"

"I thought it would cool me down a bit, so I could sleep." Pip continued without any more prodding and Rossi sat back to let her finish it in her own words. "I went into the kitchen and that's when I saw them. Mr Hollis had come over to watch the ball game with Mr Cavanaugh and stayed over on the couch. Said his wife didn't like the smell of booze on his breath. Cody…the two of them…they were…he was…"

He squeezed her hand. "Move past it, Pip. You don't need to see that again," suggested Rossi, heart breaking at the distress on her face.

Pip hesitated, and Rossi squeezed her hand again. "Cody looked terrified," she whispered, "but it obviously wasn't the first time. I-I just ran. Mr Cavanaugh came into my room in the morning to say Cody had gone and left a mess behind, and that I was to stay in my room until they'd tidied up." Pip took a shuddering breath. "I saw them wheel him out. He'd hung himself."

"None of that is your fault, Pip."

Pip opened her eyes and nodded sadly. "Yes. It is. He shoved a note under my door at some point before he...before he…" Pip cleared her throat. "He talked about being strong and how he'd managed alone…and that he couldn't live with the shame now that someone else knew what was happening. They asked me, after, if I'd known if he was depressed or anything. They asked again when I got my placement at the group home I stayed in until I aged out. I never told anyone, because he was ashamed and didn't want anyone to know. Who knows how many more boys that monster touched because I didn't?"

"Nothing you did or didn't do changed the outcome," disputed Rossi. "If Cody was that distressed that the thought of someone knowing was enough to push him into doing it, it was only a matter a time. You see that, don't you?"

Pip shrugged one shoulder but seemed to remain unconvinced. "In my dreams he accuses me of ruining things or causing hurt to countless others with my silence. Both are true."

Rossi reached over and pulled her towards him, wrapping his strong arms around her still-shivering form. Offering her comfort the only way he knew how. He could see how she'd arrived at her conclusion. As far as Pip was concerned, the logic, if guilt and fear and horror could be said to have logic; was irrefutable. Even though she'd only been a child at the time. He cursed himself for not checking in with her before they'd left for Wyoming, he'd known the case would remind of things best left undisturbed.

They stayed like that for a long time, Rossi repeating the words "it's not your fault" over and over again softly in her ear. Eventually he had to move, his back complaining at the odd position. He withdrew and straightened up to rub his protesting muscles.

Pip shuffled sideways and flipped the edge of the blanket back in a clear invitation. Rossi stared at her in disbelief.

"You've got to be kidding. There's not room enough for two!"

"Why do you think I woke you up? You want to spend the rest of the night sleeping in that chair?" she countered.

He didn't. He _really_ didn't. Rossi toed off his shoes and climbed in beside her with a long-suffering sigh. A sigh that turned into a deep, grateful groan of relief as he was finally able to stretch out.

"Told you so," murmured Pip smugly. She turned on her side give him more room as they settled down, Rossi in his customary pose as the big spoon.

Pip was hot against him, hot and clammy. The bed was hateful compared to his own, and too small for the pair of them to really lay comfortably. Noise from outside still filtered in, and the ever-present hospital smell permeated everything. It was the most uncomfortable situation Rossi could ever recall trying to relax in.

He was asleep in seconds.

* * *

The smell of coffee drifted past his nose. Rossi drew in a deep breath. It was a good blend, not the hospital crap. Rich and dark, hot and strong, and it smelled _wonderful_.

He carefully opened one eye a fraction to see if he could maybe see where the coffee was, and whether it's owner would notice if he stole a mouthful. Maybe two. There was nothing to indicate caffeine in the immediate vicinity other than the smell, so he let his eye drop closed again, taking another lungful of the scent.

Damn, that stuff smelled good. A smell almost rich enough to chew.

"Comfortable, Dave?"

Rossi shot bolt upright, deaf to Pip's spluttered protests as her pillow sat up and took the blanket with him. He stared in horror at Hotch, who was sat by the side of the bed with sardonic eyebrow fully engaged and two cups of coffee in his hands.

Oh God. He was fifty-fucking-three and yet Rossi could already feel the blush starting round about his neckline and spreading rapidly upwards. As innocent as it had been, his boss had caught him in bed with a colleague. The _hospital_ bed of a _sick_ colleague, no less. Hotch was going to murder him. Slowly and painfully; then he'd decorate the office wall with his hide as a warning to others.

"I was expecting you to still be here," said Hotch disapprovingly. "I _wasn't_ expecting to find you entwined together like a pair of nesting kittens."

That was the second time in…Rossi stole an incredulous glance at his watch. Second time in less than six hours that he'd been compared to a cat in some fashion. He held out his hand for the coffee, a faint pleading look on his now-flaming face. Hotch wouldn't be so cruel as to make him explain before he'd woken up the caffeine-addicted mass in his skull that masqueraded as a brain…would he?

Hotch clearly thought about it before he relented, eventually holding out one of the cups towards him. Rossi grabbed it in relief.

"Hey!" he exclaimed as Pip immediately divested him of his morning nectar and took a large mouthful of it herself.

Pip wrinkled her face in distaste as she swallowed. "Blech! No sugar."

The lack of sugar didn't stop her taking another long swallow of _his_ coffee.

"Hey! Thief! That's mine!" Rossi cried, stealing the coffee back. "You're sick, you're not supposed to have any anyway." He curled his arm around the cup protectively.

"As charming as this exchange is, I'm still here and still waiting for an explanation."

Pip and Rossi both turned to look at Hotch.

"What?" asked Pip belligerently. "I couldn't stand him complaining about how uncomfortable that chair is, so I offered to share."

"That bed is hardly big enough for two, Harker," disputed Hotch.

He turned the full force of the eyebrow on her, and Rossi breathed out carefully, grateful it was no longer aimed at him. He would let Pip deal with Hotch, and hopefully the teenage blush would subside before he had to participate in the conversation again. Rossi buried his nose in the coffee, as if trying to hide.

"Neither's my sofa," shot Pip, "and we've fallen asleep together on that more than once."

Looking at Hotch's face, Rossi wasn't sure that was a good argument. Hotch's lips thinned and he let out a long breath through his nose. Both signs of frustration and annoyance.

"I had nightmares," whispered Pip in the silence that developed.

Compassion bloomed in Hotch's expression and finally he nodded, willing to dismiss the sight he'd walked in on as purely platonic. Rossi relaxed a little, sure he was safe from any immediate fallout.

"How do you feel this morning?" asked Hotch.

Pip barely let him finish before replying. "I'm fine."

Rossi snorted disbelievingly and elbowed her sharply in the ribs. Pip glared at him, but Rossi just shrugged. "The gorgon stare doesn't work on me," he said easily. "Hasn't for years. Try again."

"Urgh, you're such a…a mother hen!" complained Pip. "Stubborn, aggravating control freak…"

Rossi grinned. "Takes one to know one. Looked in a mirror lately?"

"No, I'm pretty sure I look ghastly." She narrowed her eyes at his coffee. "A real friend would share their coffee…" she added in a wheedling tone.

"You've already had some, it's my turn," disputed Rossi, taking another quick mouthful in case she swiped it again. "Besides, I think a real friend would rather point out that lying to the boss about how you are, especially after collapsing in the office in front of him, _isn't_ a good idea," replied Rossi, nodding his head in Hotch's direction.

"Pest. You're infuriating, y'know that?" she muttered to Rossi before turning to Hotch. "I'm shattered. I'm cold and uncomfortable, and I'd kill for a decent coffee. But mostly, I'm just tired and I want to go home." Pip levelled a disgusted look at Rossi. "Happy now?"

"Ecstatic," he deadpanned. They glared at each other, neither wanting to be the first to break. Rossi caved first, a smile creeping across his face despite best efforts otherwise. Pip crowed triumphantly and they both started to shake with suppressed mirth.

Hotch looked between the two of them still sat together in Pip's bed, hints of amusement flickering around his face.

"I'm going to see if I can find a nurse to check you over, just to make sure you're really alright," he said, holding up a hand to stall Pip's objections. " _If_ they say you can leave, I'll organise your discharge paperwork." Hotch stood to go and smiled faintly as Pip nodded eagerly. "See if you two can look a little less…inappropriate by the time I get back – perhaps more like federal employees than horny teenagers, hmm?"

The door barely closed behind him before they both burst into gales of laughter, clutching each other as the hysteria took the strength from their limbs.


	30. Mosley Lane (S5S16)

_A/n: Two in one day, just because I love you all. Every fav, follow and review tells me you love me in return_

* * *

 _Mosley Lane (S5S16)_

 _ **Every man is guilty of all the good he did not do - Voltaire**_

Two weeks after passing out in Hotch's arms, Pip was back at her desk, just as argumentative and infuriating as ever. For Rossi, it was something of a relief. All the time she was off work, she had been unbearable. Hotch insisted she take a week off and then work from home for another week to make sure she was fully fit again before trying to keep up with the crazy hours that the BAU ran on. Not happy at being out of the loop, Pip had bullied young Griffin into delivering her laptop, so there was no escape from her, either by phone or email. It was worse than when she was in the office.

With Pip back at her desk, business as usual resumed. Her organisational skills far outclassed the efforts of Phillips, who had nominally been in charge while she was away. It showed a soon as the profilers caught another case, this one in Ashburn. Rossi had the privilege of seeing Pip marshal her troops as the team scattered to collect their belongings and make their way to the jet.

AST were huddled round Pip's desk as she handed out assignments.

"Right, new case. Ashburn, missing child. Phillips: flight plan and hotels. Coordinate with Griff for hotel costs. I want Bureau SUV's waiting for them, fuelled and ready to go when they land. Not like Rhode Island when the first stop had to be a gas station rather than the police station." The dark-skinned logistics specialist nodded, scribbling notes on a post it.

"Griffin: hotels with Phillips, and phones. Talk to Garcia about video uplinks too. She'll monitor traffic if we need it, but I want to know how much it'll eat into our budget if we do, the finance committee is breathing down my neck again." Griffin nodded too, his flame-red mop swaying as he did so.

Pip turned to the new member of her team, Hank Duffy. He was a temp who'd arrived while Pip was off work. Unfortunately, the recruitment for Collier's role had fallen through at the last minute, the chosen candidate taking a job at Scotland Yard instead. Duffy had come to them on loan from Legal, just to ease the pressure. The man was huge, easily towering over his colleagues, yet possessed such a gentle nature that Rossi had liked him immediately. He wasn't fat, just massive, built solidly. Taller than Hotch and considerably broader than Morgan, Duffy put Rossi in mind of a giant from fairy tales. One had to wonder where the man got his suits, because there was no way in hell he could get one off the shelf.

"Duffy: talk to the local prosecutor, tell him we're coming, Hughes should still be top dog in Loudoun County. Start prepping warrants, coordinate with Penny for any she's going to need this end, and make sure you get copies of any that the team ask for from the locals, so our files are complete."

Pip handed copies of the file to each team member. "There's a missing eight-year-old girl out there, work hard and work fast. Go."

There was a flurry of activity as Griffin and Phillips set to work. Duffy hesitated.

"Ma'am? Legally, I can't start warrant procedures until there's something specific to look for."

Pip squared up to him, an impressive feat considering Duffy was maybe 6'10" and had probably nigh on 150 pounds on her.

"You can start the paperwork and leave it blank until Garcia needs it, or maybe even after she needs it, depending on how fast the case moves."

"That paperwork needs to be completed all in one go, ma'am," disagreed Duffy. "I could get in trouble otherwise."

"Just do it, Duffy," said Pip shortly. "Trust me, it's in your best interests. And make sure you use the same colour pen if you need to add or change bits later." She sighed. "Hank, this isn't the Legal team. Things work differently here, you work by _my_ rules, not the Bureau's, and if it helps the profiling team, then I will bend the official line as far as I possibly can. If you have a problem with that, you're in the wrong place." She pointed at him. "All the time you're here, you're _mine_ , and I will defend you as one of my own," she said, glancing at Phillips and Griffin, who nodded eagerly. "Your loyalty is to me, and mine to you. If there's heat over anything, then I'll take it, not you. You just do what needs doing, I'll worry about the rest, do you understand?"

The size disparity made it look like a kitten mewing at a mountain, but the mountain was the one that conceded. Perhaps it had something to do with the kitten being a cave lion, bristling with the fierce protectiveness she displayed for all her team. Duffy flushed, obviously unused to Pip's rather brusque manner. Rossi doubted any of his other supervisors had said quite so baldly that they would stick up for him if it came to it. It wasn't the sort of thing Bureau lawyer would say, because most of them had political aspirations and would happily climb over others to further their own career, or serve up a perceived rival to take the fall if something went wrong.

"Yes ma'am," he muttered.

Pip huffed, exasperated. "And don't call me ma'am," she said. "It makes me feel old. My name is Pip, or "boss" if you can't manage that."

"Yes ma'am...boss. Yes boss."

Pip sighed and caught Rossi's eye as he closed his office door on the way out. He gave her a shrug as if to say, "what can you do?" and she rolled her eyes in reply.

* * *

The case rolled to an unsatisfactory end, despite finding the girl they'd flown out to find.

Pip was on the phone when Rossi pushed open the door to the BAU, the rest of the team close behind him. What caught his interest was that she wasn't speaking English. He drifted closer, trying to keep his approach unobtrusive. She looked up at him and smiled absently before turning her attention back to her phone call. He wasn't convinced by her casualness and perched himself on Emily's desk, not looking directly at Pip, but keeping her in his peripheral vision. He smiled to himself when Pip never gave him a second glance, focussed on her conversation. She didn't know he was watching.

"Something I can help you with Agent Rossi?" asked Pip as she put down the phone.

Rossi grimaced briefly. Busted. He hadn't been as subtle as he thought. They weren't alone, so now he had to make something up. "I, uh…"

Graciously, and with a knowing smirk, Pip rescued him. "You've mucked up the new prelim form again, haven't you? I'll be there in a bit." She waved an imperious hand in the direction of his office.

Caught by completely surprise, Rossi could only gulp as Morgan grinned at him. "Um…"

"Go on, shoo," Pip flapped her hand in dismissal, a sparkle in her eye. She was enjoying herself immensely.

Morgan sniggered as Rossi did as he was told.

"Ah, yes. Agent Morgan," chirped Pip with equal parts steel and sweetness, as Rossi walked away. "As you are here, I wanted to talk to you about a wonderful work of fiction you submitted, also known as your report of the events that led to you returning a Bureau SUV with the large dent in the front wing." Pip waved the report in Morgan's direction. "Put in an alien abduction and I could publish it as a short story. This is all bullshit and you know it. You can't bullshit a bullshitter. Cough it up."

Morgan slouched over to Pip's desk and muttered something Rossi missed, now too far away to pick it up. He left his door open in the hope of hearing the rest of the exchange.

"Because as well written as this is, I need to know the truth so I can cover your ass on the insurance claim."

Morgan mumbled something else Rossi couldn't hear.

"A _squirrel_? You hit a dumpster swerving to avoid a _squirrel_?" cried Pip incredulously.

"Hey, keep it down, will you?" pleaded Morgan. "I didn't tell Hotch either."

Pip laughed. "Your secret is safe with me. Now I know what happened, I can make sure your account matches what goes on the insurance paperwork. You owe me, that form is about fifty pages long."

"Thanks, Harker."

Pip snorted. "I will cover your ass and protect your man of steel reputation until my dying breath, have no fear. It's my job. But next time, just hit that damn thing, will you? Bloody creatures are no better than rats, everyone thinks they're cute because of the fluffy tails, but they're a menace."

* * *

"You're about as subtle as a brick through a church window," commented Pip as she closed his door behind her about an hour later. "What were you lurking about for?"

"I'm nosey," admitted Rossi. "I was just trying to work out who you'd be speaking to in…" he hesitated, "in Russian?" It was a guess, but an educated one.

Pip shook head. "Close, but not quite. Romanian, or at least a dialect of it, one from near the Ukrainian border. One of many I speak well. I am a language specialist after all," she added smugly.

"I know, I just…I never thought about it I guess. I know you speak Italian, probably better than I do, as horrifying as my mother would have found that, God rest her soul, but it never really crossed my mind before."

"Sorry about your mom," said Pip. "You've never really talked about her."

Rossi shrugged. It was an old wound, one long healed. "It was a long time ago. She taught me to speak and cook Italian," he said fondly. "She would have _loved_ you."

Pip smirked. "I can manage a decent lasagne, but I tend to get a bit, um…carried away."

Rossi raised an eyebrow. It sounded like there was a story there. "Oh?"

"Well, because I spent a fortnight barricaded in my apartment because I got a bit ill and my boss overreacted," Rossi coughed pointedly, but Pip forged ahead, ignoring his implied disagreement. "I decided to make a batch of lasagne."

Pip perched herself on the end of his desk. "You should have seen it. It was beautiful to behold, the perfect production line. Meat, tomatoes, cheese and pasta in one end, flawless single portion lasagnes out the other. Trouble is…whenever I cook, I tend to forget how big my freezer is." Pip grinned. "Or rather, how big it _isn't_. I now have at least two weeks' worth of lasagne in the freezer and no room for anything else. Everything that wasn't essential, and some things that were, went in the bin. I ate half a gallon of ice cream in forty-eight hours and dinner has been lasagne every night for the past week."

Rossi chuckled before a thought struck him. "Which ice cream?" he asked accusingly.

"Relax. Your Rocky Road is safe. I ate the mint chip. Well, I say I ate it. First day I used a spoon, second day I had to use a straw…"

Rossi narrowed his eyes suspiciously. "Are you trying to get me to take you out for dinner?"

"Is it working?" asked Pip desperately. "Anything but lasagne!"

It wasn't until Rossi was watching her push her main course round her plate that he realised Pip had never told him who she'd been talking to in Romanian. He had tried to start conversation more than once, even deliberately trying to goad her into a response by voicing an opinion he knew she'd disagreed violently with. Pip had replied, but their usual cheerful debates over dinner were missing.

"Are you going to eat that or just move it about so it can make new friends?" he asked, gesturing at her plate with his fork.

"Hmm?" Pip looked up from her vacant contemplation of her meal and then back down at the mess she'd created. "Oh. Yeah." She took a mouthful and chewed unenthusiastically.

Rossi finally lost the battle with his patience. She wasn't going to volunteer what was wrong, so he'd have to ask.

"Pip, what's up with you? For someone desperate to have anything but lasagne, you've hardly eaten at all. It's not like you."

"Just an unexpected blast from the past," she replied. "It's probably nothing."

"Doesn't look like it from here," he disagreed.

"We didn't exactly part on good terms, I'm just not sure why they made contact if it wasn't to return the favour they owe me. It doesn't matter," Pip added firmly, halting any further questioning.

Rossi sighed, frustrated. She didn't often completely slam the door closed on a subject, but he'd learned by now that there was little point in pestering her for answers if she did. No matter how much it annoyed him.

"You never did tell me how many other languages you speak," he said, trying to get her to at least be somewhat involved in a conversation.

Pip shrugged. "Six or seven fluently. I can get by in at least half a dozen or so more, with varying degrees of success, although that's not counting sub-dialects of most of those. After that, I'm down to exaggerated mime and universal hand gestures, like every other tourist out there." She smiled as Rossi chuckled. "Never mastered Japanese, no matter how hard I try. I can manage "hello" and "sorry", but everything else eludes me. I _can_ swear quite well in Gaelic however."

"Gaelic?" he asked curiously. "That's interesting – is there Irish in your family?"

"Oh yes." Pip grinned. "On my mom's side. My dad's parents were gone long before I was born, but my mom's were still around when I was a kid, and her uncle and his wife. This was long before the drive-by that killed my parents, obviously. They'd all passed on by then." Pip paused, gaze hazy with memory.

"They lived all together in this big house, all four of them," she continued. "Beautiful place, upstate, out of the city. As far I was concerned, I had two sets of grandparents just like everyone else: Grandma and pa Harker and grandma and pa O'Connell. It took me years to realise the Harkers weren't and that grandpa O'Connell wasn't my grandpa at all, but actually my great uncle. He'd sit me down every Christmas, Easter and Thanksgiving after he'd been at the sherry, and teach me to curse in his mother tongue. Much to the horror of my mom, obviously." Pip chuckled and took a deep swallow from her wineglass.

"I was only little, eager to please, and I soaked it all up like a sponge. The ruder it was, the harder he laughed. I loved it, the rest of the year he was so stern and rule-abiding. Those hours sat on great uncle David's knee learning to swear in Irish is probably where my fascination for languages came from in the first place."

"Another David huh? Was he devilishly handsome too?" asked Rossi with a smile.

"Certainly another bad influence on me, yes," replied Pip with a laugh.

Pip made more of an effort to be involved after that exchange, although Rossi still felt like she was responding out of duty more than anything else. She ate….sort of. Her main course had been pulverised into an unappealing mush, but she managed two large slices of the house speciality cheesecake with no trouble. "Anything but lasagne" had apparently meant sugar, and in vast quantities.

It was a long time before he worked out who she'd been speaking to on the phone, and by then it was far too late.


	31. The Fight (S5E18)

_The Fight (S5E18)_

 _ **Peculiar I say, how so often the smallest, most seemingly insignificant details later unveil their faces as vital means for progression - Criss Jami**_

"Harker."

"Rawson."

Rossi looked back and forth between the two agents, trying and failing miserably to work out the undercurrent of non-verbal conversation that was taking place.

"Keeping well?" asked Pip awkwardly. She was uneasy around Rawson, something Rossi couldn't quite figure out. As far as he knew, until they came face-to-face that morning, they'd never met. The way they were acting said differently. Each was silently assessing the other as if noting the changes since their last meeting. They obviously knew each other somehow and not from recently, either.

"Well enough. You?" The Welshman seemed just as disconcerted to see her as she was him. Mutual assessment over, his eyes kept darting towards Hotch's office, where Strauss and Hotch were deep in conversation. Rawson looked like he was hoping for a rescue, although from whom was anybody's guess.

Pip grunted noncommittally. "Getting by."

Rawson nodded, shifting his weight from one foot to another as if he were agitated. "You still got that…" He stopped in a hurry, as Pip's expression turned forbidding and dangerous. "Right, yeah. Figures."

"What are you doing here, Rawson?" growled Pip. "I'm not exactly overrun with spare time. Either get to the point or get out."

"I'm part of Sam Cooper's team now. We're running the same case from different angles, but Strauss won't let us travel with you." Rawson rolled his eyes. "Both sides are connected, Sam's convinced of it, but she won't sign off on the joint investigation. I need cheap flights for us and our kit to San Fran, and an out of the way place to set up in." He grinned. "Ideally one where Strauss won't find us."

"They let you in the FBI? Standards must be dropping," sneered Pip. "Although disobeying a direct order is a good way to get you out of my hair for good," she mused. She waved a dismissive hand. "Fine, I'll see what I can do. Now fuck off before I change my mind and keep that promise I made to you."

Rawson quickly walked away, throwing a vaguely hurt look over his shoulder as he did so. Rossi gave Pip a questioning glance when she sighed with relief, a weary, careworn expression replacing the bullish, angry set to her face.

"Long story," she muttered, rubbing her temples as if to fend off a headache.

"Isn't it always?"

Pip sighed again, but with a hint of a smile. "You try living it instead of just hearing it." She cocked her head. "There was a film that illustrated in beautifully, you ever see it? Two operatives with opposing objectives meet randomly and end up being each other's cover story to hide from the locals, fall in love and get married."

Rossi nodded. He'd seen the movie in question, but the title escaped him. He didn't think Pip had fallen in love with Rawson, he knew enough about her to know the man simply wasn't her type. They _had_ slept together, the faint blush she sported told him that, but he was trying not to think too much about it.

"It was a bit like that," continued Pip, "only far less glamorous. One of us was assigned to neutralise a target, the other to protect them, but _we_ didn't know that. Lots of near misses, occasional comedy moments and plenty of gunfire." Pip snorted ruefully. "At least we never went to the extreme of getting married."

"Which were you?" asked Rossi, although he thought he knew. Pip's protective instincts were beyond doubt.

Pip grinned. "Let's just say I won that round and leave it at that, shall we?"

* * *

On the jet, Hotch broke the news to the rest of the team that in spite of Strauss's objections, Cooper's team was going to be investigating the other side of the deaths the profilers were looking at. Cooper was convinced there was a link between the disappearances and the dead bodies that turned up a few days later and Hotch was going to let him run with it. Rossi stood up for his old friend as they talked it through. If Cooper thought there was something to connect the deaths to the abductions, then there probably was.

Strauss wasn't happy with Cooper's disobedience, but that had been expected. Rossi could only imagine her look of frustrated fury when Cooper made it clear he wasn't going to go running back to Virginia on her orders. It was a mean, happy little thought that cheered him up all day. Erin still couldn't see the big picture, and perhaps never would. They'd already proven Cooper was right about the links between the bodies and the father/daughter abductions, which had been more than half the battle in finding the identity of the UnSub's latest victims.

With only a few days to work with, there was little time for sleep while they were in San Francisco, and even less for relaxing. Or eating - Rossi found himself surviving on lukewarm coffee heavily laced with sugar, and protein bars whenever he passed a vending machine.

The impromptu party in the strange basement room Pip had found for Cooper was just what Rossi needed when it was all over. Especially after having to do the round trip to San Quentin twice in three days, he'd seen enough of that place to last a lifetime already. Stood in a corner, he could practically feel the beer washing the prison out of his system. All he needed to finish the job was some time with Pip.

* * *

"Rawson's good with a rifle," commented Rossi. "Thanks," he added as Pip handed him his mug. "Saved Emily's life this evening."

It had been too late to eat by the time they'd arrived back, but Pip had offered him a hot brew with the promise of a shot of the extra-strength stuff the following morning. That had sounded like heaven. Mudgie would be fine for one more night and snuggling up to Pip would help him sleep after seeing those men beaten to hamburger.

"Huh. She should watch out, as far as I could tell, that's part of his seduction routine," snarked Pip. "He always was a good shot," she added, settling in next to him on the sofa. "Not as good as I was though." Pip smiled half-heartedly. "Is that a skill or a curse, you think?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, shifting so their shoulders touched.

"Well, people with an innate natural talent, like music, or art, or…or numbers, they usually end up in a profession where they can use the skill, right?" Pip set her half-empty mug down and folded her arms in a self-comforting, defensive gesture, as Rossi grunted his agreement. "What if the skill is shooting? You get drawn in eventually whether you like it or not. People die at the end of your barrel just because you have an aptitude for it. Who's to blame for what you do?"

Rossi hesitated. She wasn't talking about Rawson, she was talking about _herself_. "I like to think that most of us aren't happy unless we're doing something we're good at," he said carefully. "That's the best reason I know for using the skills we're given." He smiled at her, hoping for one in return. "The world needs more happy people."

The smile Rossi received in reply was fleeting, at best. "What if I wasn't happy?" asked Pip. "What if I said I'm happier in the BAU than I ever was anywhere before?"

There was that word again. "Before". It almost had capitalisation, like the word encompassed a set period in her life that she'd left behind. It sounded like she'd just told him the reason why, or at least part of it. Rossi had a feeling the phone call she'd received from "an old friend" was related to the conversation in some way, although he didn't know enough to put all the pieces together. That didn't happen until over a year later.

"You weren't the one on protection detail that time you met Rawson, were you?" Rossi asked, as some of the little hints she'd given him over the years added up.

Pip shook her head. "No."

It seemed like there was always something new he learned about her every time they had one of these conversations. Sometimes it was just a little clue, other times it was something concrete, but there was always _something_. Despite the depth of their friendship, there was still so much about Pip he didn't know.

Like whatever had happened when she'd met Rawson. He knew she'd been a good shot, before the events in Chicago had forcibly stolen the skill away from her. But there was being a good shot, and there was being the one called in to take _the_ shot. "You were a sniper?" he asked.

Pip nodded, but laughed a little bitterly. "But my job title was Language Analyst."

Rossi pondered that. What did it mean? A sniper with a body count masquerading as a Language Analyst. Not a military or FBI role, surely. What else had she done before he met her?

"Lots of things," she murmured unhappily, making Rossi realise he'd voiced that last thought aloud.

"How many? Do you mind me asking?" It was a deeply personal question, even given how close they were.

Pip shook her head, and reached for her coffee to avoid meeting his eyes. "I don't mind, but I honestly don't know. Until I got to ten, I was almost proud of my score," she replied quietly. "By the time I passed twenty I'd already tried to stop caring. After thirty, I realised it would be better if I stopped counting altogether." She shrugged, her expression flat and unreadable. "I would have hit three figures along the line somewhere, I suppose. By the end, who knows?"

Rossi was stunned. Such numbers were usually only in realms of Special Forces operatives, or those engaged in mass warfare, using high-powered weapons to take out scores of people in one hit. She'd been a marine, and had later joined the FBI, but he couldn't see how either role would result in such a high tally. Given her age, Pip had probably been to Bosnia when it all when tits up over there, Kosovo when that did the same, and maybe Afghanistan too, depending on when she joined the Bureau. All nasty conflicts with huge casualties on every side, but for the beautiful woman sat next to him to have brought death to so many was quite startling. The end of what? What did _that_ mean? Rossi had no idea what to say.

"Rawson wasn't happy when I took my shot," said Pip after a moment. She laughed softly and set her mug aside on the table. "Even less when I told him I didn't find him the least bit attractive, despite what I'd done with him to get close to the target."

"I imagine not," murmured Rossi, a bit lost in amazement. She'd _used_ Rawson in order to fulfil her objective. Slept with him to get his guard down, enough that she could take her opportunity. He'd known she was ruthless, but that was a whole new category. "What was the promise you mentioned to him?"

Pip grunted and folded her arms defensively. "I told him if he got in my way again, I'd ram my foot so far up his ass he'd be able to lick my boot clean."

Rossi laughed. "Those of us that know you properly don't need a threat."

She shrugged. "We had different objectives. It was what it was."

"How did that happen anyway?" Rossi asked curiously. "The US and UK don't normally clash that…" he hesitated, "well, that _violently_. How did you end up on opposite sides?"

She shook her head. "That comes under the category of questions I can't answer, I'm afraid."

"Classified, or you don't know?" asked Rossi. "No, never mind, forget I asked. It always boils down to the same thing anyway. Politics."

Pip hummed her agreement. Rossi glanced over at her, still with her arms wrapped round her middle. He put his empty coffee cup down and snaked an arm around her shoulders.

"I think," he said slowly, "that as traumatic as it was, perhaps what happened in Chicago did you a favour. If you were that unhappy using your aptitude with guns, and you say you're happier now, then maybe a little good came of it along with all the bad. Maybe you're better off in some ways, if not in others."

"I wouldn't have met you if it hadn't happened I guess," said Pip contemplatively, after some thought.

"You needn't sound so unsure if that's a good thing or not," retorted Rossi. Pip laughed, exactly the reaction he'd been aiming for. "Come on. It's late, let's get some sleep."

* * *

"I'm glad we had a chance to meet, Dave," whispered Pip, just as Rossi was dozing off.

Rossi tightened his grip round her and smiled. "Me too."

"Made it all worth it," she mumbled as sleep claimed her. "Even Chicago."


	32. Exit Wounds (S5E21)

_Exit Wounds (S5E21)_

 _ **If you don't know where you are going, you'll end up someplace else - Yogi Berra**_

Rossi knew he should have changed out of the tux before he got back to the office, the comments and whistles started before he'd even taken his seat in the conference room.

"You workin' on wife number four?" asked Morgan.

Rossi grinned. If only they knew. He had been, sort of. After a fashion.

"I see you people way too much," he replied with a smile, deflecting the question. Hotch raised an eyebrow, and Rossi just shrugged. The night hadn't gone quite the way he'd anticipated, even before getting the call to go to work on a Saturday evening.

* * *

The charity dinner had been JP's doing. He'd been invited already and didn't want to "suffer alone", as he'd put it. Rossi and Pip had been out together multiple times with Mark and JP and the more he saw of the pair, the more Rossi liked them. JP's wit was almost as dry as Pip's, and Mark was full of stories about his time in Narcotics, and he had a flair for comic story-telling. Rossi had misjudged the young man, Mark's time in AST hadn't shown him in favourable light, and Rossi had assumed that was all there was to him. Out doing what he'd wanted to do all along, Mark was a good agent and, it turned out, even better company.

It had been easy enough for Rossi to get tickets to the dinner – best-selling authors didn't usually have trouble getting into events that required large charitable donations, and Pip had been overjoyed with an opportunity to take his credit card shopping for a dress.

And what a dress. Rossi was fairly sure his chin had hit the floor when Pip's door opened. Pip lived in pantsuits, jeans or tracksuit bottoms. To see her in a dress was a rare and pleasurable sight, and she'd chosen well for the evening's festivities. Pip looked absolutely stunning.

The deep sage green colour suited her perfectly and the silky material hugged her form beautifully, hinting at what was underneath without actually revealing very much. Worth every dollar she'd spent. Thank goodness for his long outdoor coat, because there'd be no way to disguise the stirrings of his libido otherwise. For the first time in months, Rossi found himself entertaining thoughts of what was _under_ that dress. There was even a brief mental debate about how badly things could possibly turn out if he blew off the dinner, peeled it off her and had his way with her right there and then, preferably on the nearest available surface.

He didn't, but seeing her dressed up like that reignited a lot of thoughts about Pip that he'd kept carefully buried. The twinkle in her eyes hinted that she knew exactly what she was doing to him and might not be completely averse to what he had in mind. That was enough to spark all sorts of dangerous ideas about where the night would go once the dinner was out of the way. It hadn't even started yet but as far as Rossi was concerned, the event couldn't end soon enough.

Rossi made it through dinner with the assistance of Mark and JP, their presence helping to keep his mind on mundane things, rather than the divine being sat beside him. The rather average food was accompanied by lots of laughter in enjoyable company.

Twirling Pip around the dancefloor was a dream come true. She fit so perfectly in his arms, and Rossi felt a burst of smug satisfaction each time the gorgeous woman he held declined other offers to dance, except from Mark and JP. Rossi had already decided that he'd take his chances when they left; that he'd take her back to his house, to his bed, and do all the things he'd been dreaming of doing to her for years.

Of course, the best and most eagerly awaited plans _always_ hit snags. The four friends were lounging on a couch together at the edge of the dancefloor taking a breather, when Pip stiffened beside him.

"Strauss alert," she muttered and scooted fractionally away from him. Rossi cursed the Section Chief for the loss of warmth against his side, already missing the sensation of Pip pressed up against him on the too-small seat.

"Agent Rossi, Harker, what a surprise to see you here…together," commented Strauss as she took in the mis-matched group. The tone said it all and Rossi's heart sank. Even if he got out of it alive and still employed by the Bureau, there was no way the evening would end like he'd hoped after she'd butted her nose in.

"Section Chief Strauss!" trilled Pip, apparently full of joy at seeing the her. She leapt to her feet and held out a hand to shake, forcing Strauss to awkwardly reciprocate. "How nice to see you. Are you here alone?"

The question seemed innocent enough, but Rossi knew Pip better than that. That was the Harker equivalent of "shots fired".

"Could I trouble you for a private word?" asked Strauss once she'd flustered her way through trying to explain she was attending the dinner by herself.

"Of course, ma'am," replied Pip respectfully. "If you will excuse me, gentlemen?" she said, looking around at the three of them left on the sofa they'd commandeered. She tipped them all a conspiratorial wink as she turned to follow Strauss.

The pair walked a few steps away, but Pip halted them before they were quite out of earshot. Rossi shushed Mark so they could listen. Pip obviously wanted them to overhear, which meant she had some kind of plan to explain their presence at the event together. Her hair was down for the evening and Pip captured a stray lock in one hand and twisted it around her fingers, almost coyly. Rossi narrowed his eyes. What game was she playing?

"Harker…" started Strauss.

"Philippa, please." Her voice dripped honey, Pip turning the charm up to high. Rossi smirked, he alone knew she meant it as an insult. If it had been genuine, she would never have told Strauss to use her full name.

Strauss attempted a smile, but she clearly didn't mean it. "Philippa. You are aware Agent Rossi's reputation, I hope? You must understand my concern. I wouldn't want anything untoward to be noted in anyone's personal files. You can see how it might appear, I'm sure."

That vile woman! Rossi ground his teeth together. Threatening Pip with his past record, that was underhanded, even for Strauss. Two seconds later, he relaxed. That sort of tactic didn't work with Pip, he knew from painful experience, and Strauss was about to find that out the hard way. And watching would probably be rather fun.

"Firstly, Erin, may I call you Erin?" Pip flashed Erin a devastatingly sexy smile and ploughed on without giving her time to disagree. "Firstly Erin, I find your heteronormative assumption that my sexual preference is for a gender other than my own, not only insulting in this day and age, but more than a little insensitive. Especially considering I was invited this evening by one of DC's highest ranking lawyers, JP Sirro, who is openly gay." Pip turned and gestured in JP's direction. "That's him, with the rather overly vibrant waistcoat, although I'm sure you knew that already."

To his credit, JP managed a gracious nod, although it was obvious he had no idea what Pip was doing. "What's wrong with my waistcoat?" he hissed in Rossi's direction, once Strauss had turned away again.

"You do stand out a little," whispered Rossi back with a grin. "You're a bit of a peacock, JP."

"As he was bringing his partner Agent Holden to the event," Pip went on, as Mark sniggered into his sleeve at JP's indignant expression, "JP also invited his friend Agent Rossi as he is aware that Agent Rossi and I work together, and he didn't want me to spend the night fending off others with the same closed-minded assumptions as you."

Strauss just stared for a moment. "My apologies, I, ah, I meant no offence," she spluttered. "But…"

"Good!" chirped Pip, cutting the woman off in mid-sentence once more and patting her arm in a companionable gesture of acknowledgement. "No harm done. If that's all settled, I'll just go back to my friends, shall I?"

"Er, yes. Yes, do." Strauss swept away and Pip spun on her toes to face the awe-struck crowd. She grinned at them and bowed.

"Wow," said Mark as Pip took her seat again. "First time I've seen the Ice Queen lose an argument before it's even started."

"Never mind that," said JP, leaning forward. "On behalf of the LGBT community, at least the bit sat on this end of the couch, did you just come out as gay to your Section Chief? Before you mentioned anything to us?"

"Nope," replied Pip with a grin. She let her gaze linger on Rossi's face, raising a smug eyebrow as she waited for the rest of them to catch on.

"All Pip actually did, was tell Strauss that she found her automatic assumption that she's straight insulting," said Rossi with admiration.

"Which it was. The fact that she was right has nothing to do with it," added Pip dismissively. "A bit of experimentation in my teens hardly counts."

"Then she let Strauss fill in the rest for herself," finished Rossi.

"And now she thinks I'm a lesbian. Could be useful in the future," added Pip with a glance Rossi's way that was brief, yet full of potential meaning. "I may have to do some hands-on research if I'm going to carry it off," she mused, "I'm a bit out of practice."

JP and Mark laughed uproariously, and Pip settled back against Rossi once more. That comment about the future and the warmth of her body against his had started him wondering if it was late enough that they could escape. Her hand was resting on his thigh and when Pip squeezed gently, Rossi made up his mind. He was just about to tell Mark and JP they were leaving when both their cell phones rang.

Rossi was stuck in his tux until he could get his go-bag out of the trunk. Somehow, Pip's tiny clutch had contained a pair of leggings and a long shirt and she'd changed in the back of the car as Rossi drove them back to the BAU. Her high heels ended up in the footwell and the dress bundled up under his emergency hoodie from the back seat. A pair of scruffy flip flops she'd left in his car from some forgotten journey completed her new ensemble. At least the rest of the profilers wouldn't twig that it was Pip he'd been out with that night, and Strauss would never breathe a word after being embarrassed so thoroughly.

* * *

It was a long flight, long enough that even Rossi managed to snatch some sleep. The champagne he'd enjoyed with dinner helped, but the frustration of work getting in the way of pleasure, _again_ , made it difficult to relax.

The residents of the fishing village in Alaska had been right to worry about the killer in their midst. Everything they learned pointed to a psychopath refining his method, hunting human prey because the sexual thrill of hunting animals failed to properly satisfy his growing urges.

All of them were tired after catching what little rest they could on the plane, and with only four rooms at the tavern, the profilers paired up to get a night's sleep. Rossi and Hotch just exchanged a glance. They'd been friends and colleagues for many years and had shared hundreds of hotel rooms before, often enough that it was no longer awkward. They'd shared a double bed many times too, when no other option was available. Given how cold it was, maybe having to do so again wasn't that much of a hardship.

Inevitably, they discussed the case for an hour or so before turning the light out, bouncing ideas back and forth. When exhaustion finally crept up on them both, Hotch switched off the light and the two lay next to each other in silence.

"Pip reckons if you nudge my feet, I'll turn over and stop snoring," commented Rossi in the dark. "I didn't know I snored, you never said. Nor did any of my wives."

Hotch grunted. "I could have done with learning that years ago, but I don't want to know why she knows how to stop you and I didn't. I'd like to retain plausible deniability in front of Strauss if you don't mind."

Rossi chuckled. "Don't think she's going to be an issue any time soon."

"Oh?"

"Strauss is convinced Pip's a lesbian."

"How did…no, never mind. Less I know the better, I think. Go to sleep, Dave." Hotch turned over and fell silent.

Rossi chuckled again and also turned over, huddling under the blankets in the chilly room.

Garcia's screams for help woke them only a couple of hours later, and there was a new body to deal with. Daylight wasn't far away, so the team made plans to deliver the profile to the locals once the sun came up. Rossi was still clutching a mug of coffee as they did so. By then, he was working on his fourth of the morning, futilely chasing the jolt that Pip's morning blend gave him.

* * *

One thing was sure, thought Rossi as they stood on the jetty with the UnSub at gunpoint, was that he was going to be sore for _days_ after running through the woods following Morgan. Although part of him was actually impressed he'd been able to keep up at the time, he knew it would cost him later.

"You're walking like you got shot in the ass," commented Pip as they made their way back to his car. She had stayed in the office for the duration of the field trip to Alaska, and Rossi was her lift home. "Did you get shot in the ass?"

"No," replied Rossi shortly. "I ran about three miles through dense undergrowth with Morgan, chasing a hunting party out to kill our UnSub. I was feeling quite pleased with myself, if you must know, right up until I tried to stand up when we landed. I hurt in places I'd forgotten I even had."

Pip laughed. "You need a hot bath, a hot toddy and hot woman. In that order."

Rossi grinned at her. "Are you offering?" he asked suggestively. "Although to be honest, I think the bath will send me to sleep and the rest would just be wasted."

"I wouldn't want to incur the wrath of your hordes of female fans by letting you drown in your own bathtub," she replied with a smirk, "so I will at least come with you to make sure you're still alive in the morning."

"Now you're treating me like a pensioner. If I thought I could catch you, I'd chase you down and tickle you for that," retorted Rossi, making a grab for her as if to carry out his threat.

Pip just laughed at him again, darting just out of reach.

The irony of it all was that Pip did share his bed, but Rossi was too tired and too sore to do much more than stretch out and go to sleep.


	33. The Internet is Forever (S5E22)

_Thank you for all the continued love & support._

 _This one's a bit of a filler, but had to be covered. Major spoilers for S7E22 Profiling 101. You have been warned._

* * *

 _The Internet is Forever (S5E22)_

 _ **There is still no cure for the common birthday - John Glenn**_

His birthday would never be the same again, Tommy Yates had _definitely_ seen to that.

It had been a long week, even before Yates reared his ugly head. The team had spent days in Boise on a case that would undoubtedly give Rossi the shudders for years to come. He didn't understand the appeal of social media, and an UnSub hunting his victims using their public postings just confirmed his existing opinion that the whole idea was a bad one. He and Pip had argued extensively on the subject, on several occasions.

Pip didn't use social media but did use an anonymous chat application to keep in contact with her team. But, she'd said, for other people, social media was an easy way to keep in touch with friends and family who were a long way away. Pictures were a way of sharing your life with those people in a way that wasn't possible by phone or always practical by email. For some, messenger apps provided instant communication where cell service was patchy. It was a way to share good news, like weddings and births, or sad news like illness or deaths with everyone that needed to know; without it taking days or weeks and multiple repetitions.

The sub-set of social media users that posted everything about their daily lives without any concern for their privacy was the group vulnerable in Boise. There were ways to protect your profiles online, security settings that prevented strangers from seeing posts, but neither of their first two victims had used any of them. Able to track the victims' movements enough to know their routines, the UnSub could break in without leaving a trace.

He'd known it would be a gruesome case, and he wasn't wrong. The third death had been live streamed on the internet, and he couldn't look away in case there was something they needed to see. He could hear Garcia futilely pleading with the young woman to turn around, to see the predator in the room, even as she tried to track the UnSub's digital trail. Yet the death Allison Kittridge gave them their lead. The UnSub had been angry, which meant it unlikely that he'd managed to be as careful as before, and Garcia had tagged the fans watching in the chatroom.

What a collection of pond slime _they_ turned out to be. Two of them had child rape and torture porn on their computers, although it turned out, not for watching. It was insurance, a form of "entry fee" to the UnSub's group that assured mutual annihilation if they were caught. Austin Chapman was the odd one out. With none of the collateral damage videos on his laptop, it was hard to see how he was involved, other than his presence in the hideous chatroom watching the UnSub's latest victim die. The kindly grandpa act didn't fool Rossi for a second. The flat, beady little eyes practically glowed with excitement at what he'd watched the previous night, for all that he protested his ignorance of Allison's death.

It wasn't until they looked at the background of the live video of Lucy Masters facing her doom that Rossi realised what Chapman had done. He didn't need illegal files on his laptop to ensure mutual annihilation, he had built the secondary location the UnSub used to keep his victims. A freezer. And he'd known _exactly_ what it was for. The threat of publicity was enough to make him talk, because such men always feared their exposure.

Rossi didn't mention it was his birthday as they flew home. Nobody was in any mood for celebration and he didn't mind that everyone had forgotten. When they were all consumed by a case, things like days and dates weren't exactly at the forefront of the mind. He was just as guilty of that as anyone. He'd take them all out for dinner or something once they'd got rid of the dark mood that hung around the jet like a dirty blanket.

For all outward appearances, Pip's birthday present to him was an extension on some paperwork overdue, wrapped heavily in her disapproval that he should need one. Morgan had given him a smirk tinged with relief that Pip hadn't been aiming her attitude toward him and _his_ backlog, and made himself scarce; quickly followed by Reid, who was also behind.

Pip was back to being thoroughly confusing again. After the dinner and _that_ dress, the prickliness had returned in full force, the more…flirty side of her disappearing once again. Pip seemed to ebb and flow like the tide, but with no appreciable pattern. Or at least, not one Rossi understood.

Once she got him alone, Pip had presented him with two new shirts, one deep blue, the other burgundy, a new video game, and then dragged him to Mama Rosa's for dinner. She'd obviously planned it all in advance, because he was treated like a prince all evening. There was no choosing from the menu, the chef took care of everything, even down to the wine. Rossi ate his way through a proper tour of Italy, one dish after another, and it was glorious. He felt like he'd be able to _roll_ home.

* * *

He was stretched out on his bed, fully clothed, when his cell rang. Pip was in the bathroom. As it was his birthday, he'd wanted to sleep in his own bed after several nights on a crappy hotel mattress, thank you very much. Much as he loved her bed, he'd convinced Pip to come home with him, rather than the other way around, and was feeling rather pleased with himself for that. It wasn't often he completely got the better of her, and out-reasoning Pip in full flow definitely counted as such. In some ways, that was almost a better present than the shirts she'd picked out for him, although he did rather like them. He was hoping to talk to her, and optimistically wondered if he might get something… _extra_ special for his birthday afterwards.

Pip, dressed for bed and holding her work clothes in a bundle, stopped in the doorway as he picked up the phone. Their eyes met in a short, resigned exchange of sympathetic understanding, before she retreated back into the bathroom to change out of her pyjamas. At that time of night, chances were that they were being called back in for a case, and they both knew it.

It wasn't a case, it was something much worse. Tommy Yates, back to make himself a thorn in Rossi's ass once again. It had taken four attempts to apprehend Yates, and Rossi had already been retired for several years by the time he'd shown up for the third time and Hotch called him back in. As before, trail had gone cold again, and Rossi had gritted his teeth and rented a house in the Hollywood Hills. Ostensibly it was so he could finish his book in peace, but in reality, he'd wanted to be close by in case the so-called "Womb Raider" popped up on the radar again.

He waited for three months before finally conceding defeat and moving back home. Those three months were the main reason he hated L.A. Everything was too expensive, anywhere remotely interesting was overrun with tourists and celebrity spotters in their thousands. It was too hot and dry for his taste, too big and too crowded. Traffic was an absolute bitch and getting anywhere was a nightmare. If you were on the wrong road at the wrong time, you could kiss your plans goodbye and spend hours stuck on grid-locked freeways instead.

Trying to avoid all that, Rossi spent most of his time in seclusion in the overly-grandiose house he had rented, with only the mindless company of a string of brainless women to break the monotony of loneliness and boredom. He'd got some work done on the book, and finalised his annulment with Krystall, but being stuck surrounded by people who cared more for how they looked and how others saw them than for actually _living_ , had been pure torture.

All for nothing, as it turned out. It hadn't been until Rossi returned to the BAU that the Womb Raider made himself known again, back before he and Pip had known each other well. They'd caught Yates, in the act even, but had got nothing from him. He was sentenced to death, and Rossi had managed to carefully bury him and all his crimes at the back of his mind.

Until he heard the smug voice down the line after the automated prison announcement. "It's Tommy Yates."

Why the fuck was Yates calling _him_? On his personal cell phone, no less. Yates had volunteered no information all the time they'd been questioning him. He had just sat there, for two weeks straight, and said not a word. Perhaps something had changed, and neither Rossi's curiosity nor his conscience would ever let him rest if there possibility that Yates finally wanted to talk. He pressed 2 to accept the charges, wondering where it was going to lead him.

The audacity of the man was astounding, to want to make a deal, but his so-called birthday present for Rossi opened up a whole new can of worms. They could bring closure to so many families that had lost a loved one, so it was inevitable he would get what he wanted. Including his transfer back East. Rossi knew Yates was telling the truth about his list, even before they'd dug up the first of forty bodies to confirm his information. The man was just too damn chirpy for any of it to be an elaborate hoax.

It was funny - as a kid he had eagerly anticipated birthdays, and while that had naturally waned as he matured, there was always some part of the grown man that still looked forward to a birthday like the kid he had once been. Not any longer. To a degree, Rossi had new appreciation for how Pip felt about her birthday.

Pip refused to acknowledge its passing each year, save for her customary date with a bottle and his company to make sure she didn't go too overboard. She hated any reminder of it and made it quite clear to all that she didn't want cards or presents, or any kind of fuss, even from him. Rossi could see that his own birthday was going to be a similar such bleak mark on their mutual calendar in the future.

Every year, he would have to visit Yates, be polite and not high five the bastard in the face with a chair. All so he could have the privilege of digging up another victim and telling another family the remains had been found. How many years of that would he be able to take? Yates claimed there were sixty-one more names to add to the list of forty he initially provided, which meant Rossi would never get them all – simply put, he was already too old to think he'd live another sixty-odd years. Even forty was pushing it. And Yates would have total control over which name he got, doling them out one by one on the special date of his choosing.

In order to keep himself off Death Row, Yates dictated that he would give Rossi a new name every year, along with the location of the grave site. Every year, on Rossi's birthday. Every year, he would have the same disillusioning conversation with himself, and suffer the same internal reprimand for not catching Yates earlier. Every year, there would be another body, one he could have prevented if they'd caught the monster sooner. Every year, there would be another family he had to break bad news to. If that wasn't a depressing thought, what was?

* * *

It looked like Pip had her own depressing thought to contend with, if the look on her face when he returned to the Bureau was anything to go by. They'd spent two weeks turning over a large section of the West Coast finding bodies and Rossi was more than ready to just sit back with a glass of wine while she insulted him.

When they'd caught Yates, he'd dealt with it alone. He couldn't do so again. Forty bodies, forty families, forty notifications. Rossi felt raw, inside and out, like he'd been scrubbed with a wire brush. Pip was the balm he would use to sooth his pain, her company filling the cracks in his soul. The cool hand to his fevered brow.

She would tell him he'd put on weight or grown older. She'd point out the bit he'd missed while shaving or that his hair needed a brush. She'd disparage his choice of shirt or shoes. She would share some wickedly pointy insight about flaws in his personality. Each remark was researched, polished, and honed to perfection during his absence and then delivered with impeccable timing as he futilely tried to defend himself. Every time, Rossi would laugh. Once he was laughing, everything else was so much easier to deal with, and that was the gift her beautifully, _lovingly_ crafted insults gave him.

Usually. Pip's face that evening wasn't one gearing up for their ritual combat. It was one of intense concentration, like she was working on a particularly tricky problem. The last time he'd seen her looking quite so focussed was when the New York Times retired their cryptic crossword compiler. It had taken her hours rather than a matter of minutes to complete the first one by the new author; an afternoon singular in memory as the longest time Rossi had known her to keep quiet whilst still conscious.

"Who pissed in your coffee this morning?" he asked as the elevator slid downwards toward the parking level.

"Strauss oozed out from under her stone to inform me that I have a meeting with her first thing tomorrow," sighed Pip. "I've no idea what she wants, and that worries me."

"Sorry I asked," Rossi muttered with a smirk, prompting a laugh from Pip. "Be careful."

Pip grinned. "You know me."

"Yeees," he agreed slowly. "That's what worries _me_."

Pip's grin only broadened and like a flick of a switch, the argumentative light in her eyes started its familiar dance. He'd scored the first hit, and she wouldn't let him get away with that for long.

Pip took a deep breath and waded into battle.

He was laughing before the elevator had made it to their destination.


	34. Our Darkest Hour (S5E23)

_Our Darkest Hour (S5E23)_

 _ **Beginnings are sudden, but also insidious. They creep up on you sideways, they keep to the shadows, they lurk unrecognized. Then, later, they spring - Margaret Atwood**_

Pip was supposed to be in her meeting with Strauss, so having her throw open Rossi's office door and barge in was a bit of a surprise. Perhaps even more surprising was that Strauss followed right along behind her.

"I haven't finished talking to you," said Strauss to Pip's back, obviously frustrated.

Pip didn't even turn around. "Well, I've finished listening. I have work to do." Pip thrust two files in Rossi's direction. "As you requested sir, just let me know if you need any others."

"Oh, ah, thank you," managed Rossi, concerned gaze flickering back and forth between Pip and the glowering woman behind her.

Pip turned to leave, only to find Strauss blocking the exit. She turned back with a exasperated sigh and fixed Rossi with one of her classic "don't argue" expressions. "Agent Rossi, do you mind if I… _we_ use your office for just a moment? Apparently, this conversation can't wait."

"Sure. Let me just…" Rossi grabbed a random handful of the files from his desk and beat a hasty retreat. Burning with curiosity, he paused just over the threshold. "Do you…" Rossi's office door slammed shut in his face, cutting him off in mid-sentence.

"What's all that about?" asked Hotch from his own doorway.

Rossi shrugged, backing away from his up-close-and-personal view of the woodgrain. "At face value? Pip had a meeting with Strauss first thing, she left before it was over, and I've just been evicted from my own office so they can finish up."

"It's not that simple, is it?"

"Never is with her," muttered Rossi. "Look, can I hide in your office for a bit? I don't want to get caught lurking out here when it all blows up."

Hotch gave him an odd look before gesturing Rossi inside. The sound of voices filtered through the wall, not quite loud enough to pick out individual words, but enough to pick up a sense of annoyance from both parties.

"You really can hear everything, can't you?" mused Rossi. "Is that what it's like all the time?"

Hotch flashed him a smile. "Mostly. Except when you're on the phone to your publisher, then I can hear every word. She really knows how to push your buttons, doesn't she?"

"Why? I don't report to you!" cried Pip, her voice clear, even through the wall between them. "I report to Agent Hotchner, despite your repeated failures to get him ousted from his job! It's good thing he's better at his than you are at yours, isn't it?"

"Told you she thinks highly of you," commented Rossi as the noise level increased, both women talking over each other. "Twenty bucks says Pip wins this argument, whatever it's about."

"You obviously think you know something I don't, but you're on," replied Hotch, throwing a twenty down on the desk between them.

"Ms Harker!" shouted Strauss, probably in an attempt to get a word in edgeways.

"Oh, that's just going to piss her off," muttered Rossi.

" _Special Agent_ Harker!" yelled Pip in return. "With all possible respect…"

"Doesn't actually mean there _is_ any," remarked Rossi with a smirk. Hotch flapped a hand to shush him, having given up any pretence of not being interested in the row developing in the office next door.

"…not carry a weapon any longer," continued Pip, "but I retain my title and I'd ask that you address me correctly!"

The voices faded to unintelligible babble for a few minutes, before Pip's voice rose again. "That's none of your damn business!"

"If it concerns how your team functions, then it most certainly is!" Strauss shouted back.

"It _doesn't_!" exclaimed Pip. "It's not even true! It's not my fault you were too stupid to understand that! And I'll tell you what else..."

There was a moment of near silence as Pip's voice dropped too low to carry through the wall, something Strauss failed at when responding.

"How do you know about _that?_ "

Pip's answer to that was too quiet for them to make out, as was whatever Strauss said next. Pip's reaction to that however, was as clear as if she were in the same room.

"And _THIS_ is how you tell me? _Un-fucking-believable!_ " Pip sounded furious, and Rossi reflexively glanced out Hotch's window in the hope that the bullpen was still empty. His hope was dashed – Phillips, Duffy and Griffin were all at their desks, all eyes glued to what was probably still quite a show, even without the added soundtrack that only he and Hotch could hear. At least none of the profiling team were around yet.

There was a pause as something else was said, not loud enough for them to pick out the words, only a sense of venom. It was followed by a squawk of fury that sounded far too undignified to have come from Pip. The sound of Rossi's office door slamming was accompanied by a tremor in the partition wall hard enough to make Hotch's door rattle in sympathy.

Rossi winked at Hotch. "Who won that, do you think?" he asked, scooping up Hotch's money. Hotch just nodded, conceding defeat.

A few moments later, they heard the Rossi's door open again, without being slammed shut. Strauss appeared in Hotch's doorway. "Agent Hotchner, there's a case in Los Angeles I want you to look at, I've given Agent Jereau the details. You may also want to let SA Harker leave early today, she's a little emotional," she said tonelessly. "I had to discuss a delicate matter and she seems to have taken it quite badly." Strauss turned without waiting for a response and strode off without another word.

Rossi and Hotch exchanged a worried glance.

"I'll find Pip, you round up JJ," sighed Rossi. It was going to be a long few days. He hated Los Angeles, and if there was something up with Pip, then it was only going to make it worse with him being the breadth of the country away from her.

Hotch nodded his agreement as Rossi peered out the window in the vain hope that he could see which direction Pip had gone. "That was easy," he commented uneasily. "Too easy. Pip's back at her desk."

"I'll get JJ to meet me in the conference room," said Hotch. "You've got about five minutes."

Emily was just arriving, watching curiously as Strauss left. To her credit, she didn't even blink when Rossi quietly asked her to stop by Garcia's lair to give him some privacy in the bullpen, then go straight to the conference room afterwards. Rossi made his way towards the AST, noticing uneasily the exclusion zone her team had left in force around their boss. Pip had her head down and was working away furiously, yet with a clear area of space between her and Griffin and Phillips on either side. The three of them were close, the bond deep. That neither man was trying to talk to her was worrying. Griffin had actually edged his chair away, as if to stay out of the firing line.

Rossi approached carefully, catching Phillips' eye briefly as he did so. Phillips shrugged, indicating he had as little idea of what was going on as Rossi.

"Pip?"

"What?" snarled Pip, then looked up briefly. "Oh, it's you," she said bitterly, immediately dropping her focus back to her work. "Send you after me, did she?"

"Is there anything I can do?" asked Rossi. Other than the fury clear in the line of every overly-taut muscle in her body, Pip didn't immediately seem too badly off. Anger was always her instinctive reaction to Strauss to some degree or other, so perhaps Erin had misjudged Pip's mood. It was an easy enough mistake to make unless you knew her really well.

"Any good at time travel?" Pip shot back. "Because if not, then no, you can't, and I've got work to do." Pip hands paused their furious motion and she glared down at the half-formed case Master file on her desk. She looked at her team, each in turn. "I'd appreciate it if everyone gave me a bit of space to do this," she said, gesturing to the heap. "Why don't you all go get a coffee in the break room?"

Phillips and Griffin immediately jumped up to do as she'd asked, probably glad to be given permission to get out of shouting range. The hulking figure of Duffy stayed put, ignoring the frantic glances Phillips kept throwing his way. Either Duffy didn't know Pip well enough to see that she _needed_ them to leave, or he didn't care.

"Is the official request from LAPD in there?" he asked over Pip's shoulder, pointing at the pile of paperwork in front of her. Rossi noted with some concern as Pip's hands started to shake. He'd been wrong about her mood, very wrong, and Strauss was only the tip of the iceberg.

"Go check in the break room," Pip ground out through clenched teeth.

"It won't be in _there_ , ma'am…" started Duffy. Rossi jerked his head at Phillips, knowing what was going to come next, but Phillips was already moving as Pip exploded.

"Oh, for…Take a fucking _walk_ , Duffy! Just get out of my sight for _five fucking minutes!_ " Pip cried. "Please! And stop calling me ma'am!"

Phillips dragged Duffy away, looking a bit like a row boat towing an supertanker. Griffin trailed along behind them casting frequent glances back towards his boss, the hurt writ clear on his childish features. Pip's temper was rarely aimed at her own team; even if Duffy was only a temp, he was still one of them. Young Griffin looked like Pip had shouted at _him_. For a moment, Rossi felt sorry for him. Only for a moment, however. He didn't have enough time to worry about Griffin too, not when Pip was so clearly upset.

"Pip?" asked Rossi quietly. "Just you and me now."

Pip didn't so much as glance up. "Then you're late for your briefing. Don't let me keep you," she snapped harshly.

"Pip, that's not fair. I just want to help."

" _Life isn't fucking fair_ ," growled Pip, finally lifting her head enough that Rossi could see her eyes. The smorgasbord of conflicting emotions shocked him briefly into silence.

"Right now I need to work, because I think it's about all I _can_ do," she added, forcing the words out one by one, her jaw tightly clenched.

Rossi tried once more to get through to her, knowing he was running out of time before the team assembled. Too much longer talking to Pip would be noticed. "Pip…"

"Dave, _please_ ," she pleaded, cutting across him. "Leave me alone. I'm hanging on by my fingernails here. Just…" She shook her head and looked back down at the scattered papers on her desk, but not before Rossi had seen the tears starting to shimmer in her eyes. "Let me work. I'll see you when you get back."

In the face of such utter desperation, Rossi did the only thing he could. He retreated, letting Pip have the space she asked for.

* * *

LA was hot. Blisteringly so, even at night. The concrete jungle that was the City of Angels held the scorching temperatures of the day, turning buildings into blast furnaces that belched out heat in vast quantities at night. He started sweating before they'd even finished disembarking the jet and it felt like he never stopped. With no reprieve in the weather forecast, the rolling blackouts had to continue, despite them providing their UnSub his preferred hunting environment. Keeping the power on everywhere would just turn the whole city dark when the grid failed and then they'd _never_ know where to look.

First came the revelation that the whole case revolved around Spicer. Then the power failed, and every worst-case scenario Rossi had concocted in his head was vastly overshadowed by reality. Traffic first slowed, then came to a standstill as street lights and turn signals went dark. Cell service died moments later as the networks overloaded, much as the power grid had done.

They were scattered, divided. Missing their greatest resource: each other. Hunting an UnSub in the dark with no lights, no power and no communication. It was a nightmare, and Rossi was sure it had only just begun.


	35. The Longest Night (S6E1)

_A/n: I couldn't bear to leave you in suspense...partly because I know what's coming next. This is the beginning of the end for this part of the trilogy. Please stow your tray tables and make sure your seatbacks are upright, it's going to be a bumpy landing. Don't hate me. Forestwytch_

* * *

 _The Longest Night (S6E1)_

 _ **Death is supposed to be the great equalizer, but that's never true. Death is random, capricious, unconcerned, a flagrant player of favorites. It keeps its own counsel, so much the better to profoundly shock by its actions - Kenneth Turan**_

Hotch made it to Spicer's sister's house with enough of a head start to search the place and realise Spicer and Morgan weren't there. He was just leaving the building as Rossi arrived. Some rapid profiling on the fly told them where they should have gone in the first place, but it was hours before they managed to battle through the traffic and make it all the way out to Santa Monica.

It didn't get any better once they'd found the right house, because what they found was devastating. Morgan hurt, Spicer dead, his sister raped and his daughter kidnapped. It was going to be another long, dark, horrible night.

Morgan was still protesting his health when JJ presented them all with sat phones scrounged from the local field office, a line of communication following the loss of cell service. Something they could have done with earlier, and perhaps then Morgan would have had some back up. Rossi immediately volunteered to phone the office to tell them who had which number, hoping to talk to Pip.

"Harker, BAU."

Rossi smiled faintly. Pip hadn't recognised the number on the caller display before picking up the phone. It was probably the most professional greeting she'd ever given him. "It's me."

"You ok, Dave?" He didn't usually call her when he was in the field, so her question wasn't unexpected. She would have been more circumspect about her query if her team were listening, but her first thought had been for him. Regardless of whatever it was that had been bothering her before he left for L.A.

"I could ask you the same thing," Rossi replied. Pip had been on radio silence since the team had flown out and he still had no idea what Strauss had wanted with her.

"Answering a question with a question is a cop out, which means it's awful doesn't it?"

She knew him so well. He wasn't ok, the sheer violence of the crimes was sickening. "Yeah," he admitted. "It is."

"Then I won't add to it. I'm fine."

Rossi shook his head. Just like him, Pip was far from fine. "What time is it there?" he asked. He didn't know what time it was in LA, other than still dark and still hot.

"Early morning, Griffin is due in any minute." She yawned. "I've got the three of them on overlapping rotating shifts so they can all get some sleep."

"What about you?" asked Rossi, although he knew already. There was no way Pip would leave her post all the time the team was away on a case so complexly dreadful.

"Oh, I grabbed a couple of hours on the couch in your office at some point around midnight," she replied dismissively. "I'll do it again when Phillips comes in later, I trust him to keep Griffin out of trouble."

" _My_ office? Isn't that a bit risky if Strauss is gunning for you?"

Pip snorted. "Hardly, unless you think anyone is going to think Penny and Agent Hotchner are more than colleagues, she took the one in his." Pip hesitated. "It smells of you in there and you're nearly three thousand miles away, so I had to make do. Wouldn't have slept at all otherwise," she added quietly.

That was possibly one of the sweetest things anybody had ever said to him, not that he could share that with anyone. The fact that Pip, as strong as she was, had needed that kind of reassurance told him he was right to be concerned about her.

"How's Duffy after you took his head off?" Rossi asked, trying to angle conversation towards what he really wanted to know.

Pip snorted. "He'll live. I apologised, but I don't know how much of it actually sank in. He just stood there, as he does, looking like a brick wall wearing a suit. How can someone so highly educated be so fucking slow on the uptake? Gets on my tits, it really does. He'd have been better off joining SWAT. They could have used him as a riot shield and saved me the trouble of trying to fire up all those unused braincells."

Rossi chuckled. "You don't mean that."

"No," Pip sighed, "I don't. I really like him actually. I'm going to ask to keep him, to hell with the recruitment. It's nice to be back up to full strength again and he knows his stuff. Duffy's housebroken and does as he's told, for the most part. That's good enough for me, the rest is just window dressing. He'll learn to fear and adore me in equal measures, just like the rest of you."

Which wouldn't take long. Rossi smirked. Griffin and Phillips had taken only a matter of hours to realise Pip was fiercely loyal and protective of her team, and that she would defend them to the end, even if they were in the wrong; provided it was for the right reasons. Duffy would fall into line quickly, if he hadn't already.

"Is that what you and Strauss were arguing over?" he asked.

"What did you want, anyway?" asked Pip, suddenly all business again and avoiding the question with far less subtlety than Rossi was used to. "I'm sure you didn't take a break from the case just to make sure I haven't throttled Agent Hotchner's boss while he's away."

"I'd still like to know why you want to." And why she was so desperate not to talk about it.

"I need a reason?" replied Pip smartly.

Rossi huffed with amusement. "Usually." He gave up trying to pry information from her, a futile endeavour if ever there was one. "Cell service overloaded and the power's failed once already. They patched it up, but I seriously doubt it's going to last. I've got a list of sat phone numbers, including this one, that I need you to share out. They won't last long if we can't charge them, but it's better than nothing."

"You're expecting to lose the lights again while hunting for a guy that kills in darkness? That adds a whole new level of nasty, doesn't it?" Pip huffed. "Humans: we're not afraid of being alone in the dark, we're afraid of _not_ being alone in the dark. That's exactly what this guy preys on isn't it?"

Rossi could only agree. He gave Pip the numbers, and tried not to worry when she hung up without another word.

Morgan snapping at Garcia over the phone reminded Rossi very much of the way Pip had snapped at both him and Duffy. There was anger there, and plenty of frustration too, but underneath Rossi thought he could hear some embarrassment and vulnerability as well. It was understandable, Morgan had been blindsided by Flynn and tied up, forced to watch as Spicer died. It made Rossi wonder exactly what it was about her conversation with Strauss that had upset Pip so badly.

It was JJ who saved Spicer's little girl, her heart-felt plea to Flynn via the emergency alert system convincing him to let Ellie go. Morgan took the final stand against him, knowing it would end by suicide-by-cop. Heartsick and exhausted, Rossi lost count of how many shots there were. It could have been five, it could have been more. Regardless, Flynn was dead and the reign of one of America's most prolific and until recently, least-known serial killers, was over.

He managed to sleep on the jet on the way home, partly out of exhaustion and partly out of sheer relief to be away from the searing temperatures in LA. He'd never take air-con for granted again, that was for _damn_ sure. Soaring home above the clouds, Rossi dreamed of Pip. Even deeply asleep, his mind remained firmly fixed on the last time he'd seen her, wondering about the unknown origin of the agonised expression on her face.

* * *

Duffy and Phillips were the only members of Pip's team around when the team trudged tiredly in. No sign of their boss. Rossi waited for the others to clear out before approaching them, and by the time the rest of the profilers had gone, Duffy was the only one left. Rossi hesitated. Duffy was a nice enough guy, but not exactly up on nuances of Rossi's relationship with Pip. If it had been Phillips sat there, or even Griffin, he wouldn't have given it a second thought. Both of them knew their boss was on slightly closer than just "office colleagues" terms with him. Duffy was still learning how the BAU, and more specifically, how his boss functioned.

He hesitated, but he needed to know where Pip was. Quickly. That made all other concerns irrelevant. He made his way towards the four desks that made up the AST.

"Duffy?" Rossi asked once he was close enough. No point shouting across the room, after all. "Where's Agent Harker?"

"Crossed swords with Section Chief Strauss again," rumbled the Irishman. "Something about that picture on her desk."

Rossi picked up the picture in question, a large print of Amber on the day she graduated top of her class from the Academy. It was folded awkwardly, hiding part of her face and the other person in shot who had their arm around her shoulder. Rossi unfolded it. The other person was Pip, caught just at the moment of pressing an exuberant kiss to Amber's cheek in celebration. She looked so proud of her friend, and Amber was clearly over the moon with Pip's admiration of her achievement.

"She went for a shower, sir," Duffy added, as if only just realising he hadn't answered the original question. "Been a long while. Sarge…I mean Phillips, did the wrap with Agent Hotchner."

Which meant it was serious, whatever it was that was wrong. Rossi could count on the fingers of one hand how many times Pip had entrusted her second to close the file with Hotch when they got home, injury or sickness absence aside. Alarm bells started to ring in Rossi's head even as he tucked the picture into the top of his go-bag.

"How long exactly?" he asked. Duffy just shrugged. " _Think_ man!" Rossi insisted, getting frustrated.

"Maybe an hour? Could be longer. I was finishing up the retrospective paperwork for Miss Garcia's search of…"

"You didn't think to check on her?" interrupted Rossi incredulously. "How many people do you know spend over an hour in the shower?"

Duffy shrugged again. "Boss said not to," he said uneasily, glancing away.

Pip already had him under her spell then; Duffy's loyalties were clear. Rossi tutted dismissively and strode away in the direction of the showers. Hank Duffy had picked a _fine_ time to start doing as he was told.

The motion-sensitive lighting in the women's locker room flickered into life when Rossi tentatively eased the door open. At least that was something in his favour, it meant the room was empty and had been for a while – the last thing he needed was for some female agent to accuse him of peeping. Or worse. Steam filled the air, a good indication that _somebody_ was in there somewhere with a shower running. It swirled as the cooler air from the corridor rushed in, parting long enough for him to see Pip's bag and outdoor coat on the bench running down the middle of the room. So it _was_ Pip still in the shower. If anything, that worried him more than if she'd left without saying anything.

Pip didn't respond when he called out, so Rossi took a quick look behind him to make sure no one was watching and slipped inside. Hanging on the back of the door was a handy cleaning sign, which he posted outside to prevent anyone following him. Rossi shed his bag and jacket, leaving both on the bench next to Pip's, then ventured into the thick steam to look for her.

He finally found Pip in the last cubicle on the left-hand side. Sat on the floor of the shower stall, she huddled against the wall with her knees to her chest and her face buried in her water-pruned hands. She looked up at him when he twitched the curtain aside. It didn't look like she was crying, but her blotchy face and bloodshot eyes told him she had been. Rossi backtracked to find her a towel. The one he had in his bag wasn't big enough, but he'd seen Pip had an enormous blue one laid over the top of hers. Once appropriately armed, he retraced his steps.

He got his sleeve damp turning off the shower, and his pants wet wrapping Pip in the towel. Several rogue drips from the showerhead trickled their chilly way down the back of his shirt as he pulled her to her feet. Rossi ignored it all, gathering Pip in his arms. Pip gratefully leaned her head against his chest, her dripping hair quickly and effectively soaking him to the skin. Nearly as wet as she was, Rossi guided her out of the cubicle and led her back to the benches in the locker room. He sat her down and then turned around, facing the wall.

"You're going to get dressed, and I'm going to stay here looking at the wall until you do," he said firmly to the tiling. "Then I'm going to take you home and you're going to tell me what's wrong."

Pip didn't reply, but after a few seconds, Rossi could hear rummaging noises as she dug out a change of clothes from her bottomless backpack.

* * *

"I'm worried about you," commented Rossi as he weaved his way through traffic. "Again." He glanced over at Pip in the passenger seat when she didn't reply. Her eyes were shut and Rossi felt a sudden stab of sympathy. He'd slept in the time it took for the team to fly back East. Pip had clearly not had the same luxury.

"Sorry," she replied quietly, eyes still closed. "Compartmentalised everything to get the job done. Pushed it away. Tried to wait for you to land…I held it together for as long as I could..."

Rossi took a hand off the wheel and blindly reached for her. If it was him that kept her together, then he'd damn well hold her hand while she sounded so heartbroken. Pip jumped a little when his hand touched hers, but she folded her fingers around his with no hesitation.

"I can't promise to always be there to catch you when you fall, but I will _always_ be there to pick you up again afterwards," said Rossi firmly, tightening his hand around hers to emphasise his point.

Pip responded by increasing the pressure of her own grip on him in thanks. "When I couldn't take it anymore, I went to ground," she finished, a little more sure of herself. "I knew you'd find me eventually."

"You didn't want your team to see you break down."

"No," she agreed. "They didn't need to see that."

The two of them sat in silence, still holding hands as Rossi drove.

"Why hide in the showers?" he asked finally.

Pip managed a sound that could have been interpreted as laughter under better conditions. "You're the hotshot profiler, isn't it obvious?" she asked drowsily. "Warm and dark, rhythmic movement of water? It's comforting, like being back in the womb."

Unsure quite how to respond to that, Rossi let Pip doze as the miles rolled by, releasing her hand when it became limp in his as sleep took her under.

Pip fell so deeply asleep that Rossi was able to not only drive home, but also to fetch both their bags inside without waking her.

"Hey sleepyhead," said Rossi, shaking her shoulder gently. "Wake up, we're here."

Pip opened her eyes and peered over his shoulder. "This isn't my house."

"No," replied Rossi with a gentle smile, "it's mine."

Pip scrubbed her face with one hand, trying to wake up a little more. "Why?"

"Because I bought it."

Pip stared at him for a moment before laughing a little. "Yeah. Alright, I guess I walked into that."

Mudgie greeted Pip at the door. He was starting to show his age, the years finally catching up with him. He wasn't as quick or excitable as he'd been in his youth, mostly content by then to play the dignified elder statesman. Of course, his tail still wagged at ninety miles a minute, which somewhat ruined the illusion of decorum.

Rossi watched Pip and Mudgie make a fuss of each other, noticing for the first time that Mudgie was starting to go grey around the muzzle. He ran a self-conscious hand over his goatee. His dog wasn't the only one that had happened to recently.

He paused long enough while Pip's back was turned to retrieve the picture of Amber from his bag and slip it into his pocket.

"You want a drink?" he offered, as Pip flopped tiredly down on his sofa. Mudgie did the same, thankfully across her feet rather than his freshly cleaned cushions.

"Oh, definitely."

Rossi poured them both a small scotch and sat down next to her. "You want anything to eat to go with that?" he asked, holding out one of the tumblers.

Pip shook her head as she accepted the proffered drink. "I sprung for takeout three days on the bounce to apologise for snapping at Duffy. I've eaten, but don't let me stop you if you want something."

Rather than reply, Rossi chimed his glass against hers and took a deep swallow, savouring the burn as the alcohol slid down.

"Fair enough," muttered Pip and took a mouthful of her own. "Oh, that's smooth." She took another mouthful, this one smaller, and rolled it around her mouth before swallowing. "Very nice."

"Should be, it's about ten years older than you are," said Rossi with a smile, deliberately lowballing her age.

"Flatterer," she retorted fondly. "Not quite, the big four-oh is next year." Pip drained her glass and held it out. "Refill?" she asked hopefully.

Rossi poured them both another. He drew Pip's back when she reached for it, holding the glass just out of range. "No more until you start talking," he said firmly. "How did Strauss manage to get under your skin so badly?" That was where it had started, he was sure of it.

"Long version or short version?" asked Pip bitterly.

"Try starting at the beginning for once," he replied impatiently. He put his own tumbler down and retrieved the photo that Pip had left on her desk from his pocket. "Was it something to do with this?"

Pip took the picture from his hand, gently smoothing out the crease. She traced Amber's face with her fingers. "I was so proud of her that day. So proud," she whispered. "She was like the daughter I never had." Pip cleared her throat, voice thick with emotion. "I should have known it would all come back and bite me in the ass. Everything always does."

"All what?"

"Amber's dead," she choked out, wiping away the few stray tears that fell. "Car accident."

Rossi drew in a sharp breath. "No," he whispered in shock. "Oh Pip, that's…I'm so sorry." He thrust the whisky into her hand, wishing he hadn't withheld it in the first place. "What happened?"

Pip swirled the scotch in the tumbler and stared into the amber depths. "Lorry shed its load on the highway and twenty foot length of steel went through her windshield. She was killed instantly."

Rossi lifted an arm and nudged Pip to lean up against him. "Want me to come to the funeral with you?" he offered once he'd drawn her closer. "I didn't know her as well as you did, obviously, but she did doze off on me once, and nearly vomited on a _very_ expensive pair of shoes. I'd like to pay my respects too."

Pip smiled briefly at the memory and shook her head. "Can't. It was last week. They flew her back home and she's already buried, next to her mom and dad like she said she wanted to be. Strauss passed on that bit of news while trying to take me to task for sleeping with a subordinate. The irony, huh?" she added bitterly. "There I was wondering if she might hit you with that, but it's me that gets accused of it instead."

Pip sighed. "Should have kept my fucking mouth shut at that dinner instead of leading her down the garden path," she muttered angrily. "That entire evening was a _perfect_ demonstration of my complete lack of impulse control, and then I stupidly topped it off by letting Strauss think I was gay. When this picture surfaced in Amber's things, she put two and two together and got _twelve_."

"That was the fight in my office?" asked Rossi, still reeling from the news and growing angrier by the second. Accusing somebody unprofessional conduct was _not_ the way to go about making a death notification, and the fact that Pip hadn't even been able to attend the funeral just made it even worse. He had to wonder if she also meant that her openly flirty behaviour had also been a mistake, because that's certainly what it sounded like she'd said.

"That was the fight in your office," agreed Pip with another sigh. "The one in the bullpen this afternoon was _far_ less civilised."

Rossi groaned and rubbed her shoulder. "Your temper is going to get you in trouble one day. Should I worry about you losing your job?"

Pip shook her head. "Strauss and I know far too much about each other, and I let slip some of the things I've picked up on recently. Worst she'll do is a Conduct Unbecoming rap, and I've worked off one of those before." Pip raised her head a little to look him in the eye. "You should watch yourself though, she likes you. Oh yes, she likes you a _lot_. I'm starting to wonder if that's why she hates me so much. I'm fairly sure that's why she was at that dinner alone, she'd heard you were going and hoped to catch you by yourself."

Rossi shuddered. "I'll pass, thanks." He tightened his grip on her. "I'm happy with what I've got."

"Are you, though?" asked Pip quietly, gaze never leaving his face.

It wasn't the time to have that particular conversation. It was two years overdue and couldn't wait much longer, especially considering Pip's recent behaviour. It had almost been as if she were encouraging him, yet what she said contradicted that, leaving him just short of being clear about what was going on. Rossi had to find out one way or the other, and soon, but not on when had just Pip found out a young woman she considered a daughter had died.

"For the moment," he replied cagily, deferring that topic once more. Oh, how he would come to rue that decision in the months to come.

* * *

With the dam already burst on her grief over Amber's death, Pip turned the conversation back to The Prince of Darkness and the horror the team had found in LA. As always, talking about the case helped Rossi process the events of the last few days. He knew the theory – verbalising it forced the brain to learn how to file the emotions that went with it, making it easier to deal with. He'd just never appreciated how true that was until he'd met her.

Both exhausted, they dozed off on the sofa together. Rossi woke up when Mudgie nudged his knee and he barely managed to rouse Pip enough to herd her in the direction of bed.

"Me, Mark and Margaret have flights to San Francisco tomorrow afternoon. I called them yesterday, we want to…to visit her," said Pip as she fidgeted to get comfortable. "Have a chance to say goodbye."

"Phillips isn't going?" asked Rossi, wincing as Pip's cold feet sought out his warm ones. "Christ, do you keep your feet in a freezer just for me?"

Pip hummed in agreement, sniggering as he futilely tried to keep his toasty toes away from her. "They were never that close," she said with a yawn, "and the three of us want to go just as a team."

Rossi gave up resisting and let Pip curl her chilly feet around his. "You don't want me to come either then, I take it?"

"It needs to be just us, I think," said Pip, edging herself under his arm so she could nestle her head in the crook of his shoulder. "Speaking of which, I think we need to…when I get back, I think we ought to sit down, just us."

Rossi wondered if she felt it when his heart rate picked up, starting to race in his chest. "Sit down? You've got something you want to say that you can't say now?"

"Yeah," replied Pip sleepily. "I think we need to talk about some things, you and I."

Rossi mumbled something that sounded like assent. He couldn't quite figure out the tone in her voice. He'd sit down with her, of course he would. It sounded like he was finally going to have his chance to tell her, and find out what her reaction would be.

The last thing Rossi remembered wondering before sleep took him, was whether it going to be his dream come true, or a reckoning.


	36. JJ (S6E2)

_JJ (S6E2)_

 _ **There is only one kind of shock worse than the totally unexpected: the expected for which one has refused to prepare - Mary Renault**_

Rossi was woken by the shrill ringing of his cell phone. Blearily, he leaned over and swatted it off the bedside table, casting an irritated glance at the clock as he did so. Just after 3am. He groaned. Nobody ever phoned at 3am on a Saturday with good news. He was supposed to meet up with Pip mid-morning, if they'd caught a case now, he'd have to put off talking to her _yet again_.

He fumbled the happily trilling menace off the floor and stabbed at the answer button without looking at the caller display. "Rossi," he growled.

"It's me."

"Pip?" Rossi sat up, the covers pooling around his waist. "What's wrong? Are you ok?"

"I'm fine, I'm home. Huh," Pip snorted, "for the moment anyway. Sorry to wake you." Pip did sound genuinely apologetic. She also sounded rather unnerved. Rossi's brain tried to catch up as sleep slowly fell away.

"What's going on?"

"I need to see you. How soon can you get here?" she asked quickly.

"If I push it, half hour, tops. Pip…"

"Push it. I'll put the coffee on. Park 'round the back," she interrupted, then hung up, leaving Rossi glaring at his phone in the darkness of his bedroom. What the fuck? There was a second of immobility as everything about that surreal conversation sank in. Then he leapt for his clothes in an explosion of movement.

Despite Pip's assurances that she was ok, Rossi's concern had him burying the pedal in the mat the whole way, and he parked up in the courtyard behind her house barely twenty minutes after she'd called. He was pretty sure he was due a speeding fine or three, but he'd worry about that later. He bounded up the stairs inside and let himself in.

Pip was pacing in the living room, muttering to herself, hands fisted in her hair, tugging this way and that.

"Shouldn't have done it…stupid!...Shouldn't have called...Too late now…This isn't happening, it's not happening…"

Rossi grabbed her upper arms as she swept past him unseeing for a second time. He gave her a shake.

"What's not happening, Pip? What was so important that it couldn't wait until I came over later? Why'd you need me at this time of night?"

"Reactivation!" she cried desperately, as if that answered everything. "It's impossible, but since when did that ever fucking matter when it came to my life?" She broke free of his hold and strode in the direction of the kitchen. "It broke me, they knew that. It's not fair."

Rooted to the floor for a moment, Rossi could only stare at the kitchen doorway. Whatever was wrong was still a mystery, because Pip wasn't making the slightest bit of sense. Was she ill? Amber's death and the associated, albeit unofficial, accusations of impropriety had hit her hard, and she'd only flown back from San Francisco a few hours previously. Was she having a mental breakdown of some kind? He approached the kitchen carefully.

Pip was leaning over clutching the counter top, still muttering. Between her hands were two cups of her industrial strength coffee and a grey plastic courier pouch. Her worn leather backpack was sat nearby, bulging at the seams like she was going somewhere.

"Should have known I couldn't trust them…"

"Pip? You're not making any sense. What's going on?" There was a distinct pleading note in his voice. Rossi cleared his throat so he didn't sound so panicked. "Trust who?"

She stood up and faced him, hands on hips. "They say you can leave The Company, but The Company never leaves you." Pip snorted. "I never really believed it, but apparently, it's true," she sneered.

Rossi couldn't have been more shocked if she'd told him she was the heir to England's throne. Then it was like all the tumblers of a lock falling into place, all at once. All the hints, all the evasions, everything he'd added up over the years, it finally all made sense. The secrecy, the skills and knowledge she had that she wouldn't have picked up in the Bureau, all explained. He moved past her to take a seat on one of the stools at the breakfast counter.

"CIA." Rossi had to choke his words out. The evasive, shrouded "Before" took on a whole new meaning, seen in a different light. "You're CIA." He ran a hand over his goatee and let out a deep breath. "Didn't see that one coming."

Was that really true though? Or had he just been unable to acknowledge it?

"Officer Harker, at your service." Pip spread her arms wide and bent at the waist, offering him an extravagantly mocking bow. "After I got my degree, I joined the Marines because I heard they wanted language specialists. I thought I'd get a translation posting of some sort. Instead, they gave me a weapon, taught me how to kill people and sent me into battle," she said bitterly. "Supposedly, we were part of peacekeeping forces in Bosnia." She snorted. "That was a waste of time, there was no peace left to keep by the time _we_ got there. Two long tours and a Bronze Star I still don't think I deserve later, I get recruited straight from my unit by The Company. They gave me all _new_ weapons and taught me how to do _a lot_ worse than kill people. Then they sent me out into the world."

Rossi had the uncomfortable feeling he was staring and gulping like a goldfish out of water. "To do what?" he croaked.

Pip grimaced. "I'd set up intelligence networks and then fade into the background, leaving someone else to be the spider watching the web I'd woven." Her voice lowered, becoming darker. "And when we had enough…I'd tidy up."

Rossi shivered. He could probably count on the fingers on both hands how many people he'd killed in the line of duty. That tone told him that something Pip had said about her tally wasn't true. She'd said she didn't know how many for sure. The look on her face told him she knew _exactly_ how high it was, and it haunted her terribly.

"You name a place, I've probably been there and left a trail of death and destruction in my wake," said Pip. "The things I saw…the things I _did_ …"

Pip shook her head as if trying to clear those images from her mind, then when that didn't work, she turned and hurled one of the cups of coffee at the wall. "Fuck!"

She stood and watched the brown liquid ran down the plaster. "It's not fair. I can't do this," she whispered in the sudden silence. "I'm not cut out for it anymore." She laughed. It was an unpleasant jarring sound with no mirth in it. "I never was to begin with, I don't think. I always got too invested, too emotionally involved. But I couldn't do it any more, not after…" She stopped abruptly.

"After what?" asked Rossi, desperately trying to piece together what she was telling him. It was an uphill struggle: he was decaffeinated, half asleep, it was half three in the morning and his best friend was talking in riddles. It was all starting to really scare the crap out of him. "Chicago?"

He knew the events in Chicago had scarred her, mentally and physically enough that she'd taken a desk job. Chicago was the only incident he knew of where she'd been so close to the fallout.

"No." Pip shook her head and turned to face him a little more. "That boat sailed before I joined the FBI." Pip let loose another strange laugh and rolled her eyes. "Chicago just made sure."

More secrets. More mysteries. More things about her past he didn't know. Just how well did he know this woman? Did he know her at all?

Pip gave his frustrated, confused expression a sympathetic look. "There was a missile strike," she said quietly. "Called in on intelligence I'd gathered about a training camp for terrorists in the desert. Everything I had told me that's what it was. Everything!" she cried. "But it wasn't. I'd set my web, unaware that I was already a fly in someone else's."

Pip snorted and turned away again, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "I found exactly what they wanted me to find," she muttered. "The Air Force flattened the camp, burned the sand into glass for half a mile in every direction, and I was _wrong_. There were no terrorists there, just old people and expectant mothers. Hidden away from their village for their own safety with only a couple of young warriors to watch them. We helped win a tribal war that had been raging for decades by wiping out the next generation of one side, and they were _nothing_ to do with why we were there in the first place. It was a disaster, and not one ever reported."

Pip sighed. "There was no blame attached to me personally, it was based on bad intel from the start, before I got involved, but that didn't change anything. I couldn't get out fast enough. I hung up my hat and joined the FBI pretty much straightaway. I couldn't stand being responsible for things like that anymore. And now I've got to go and do it all over again."

"Pip, what's going on?" pleaded Rossi frantically, slipping off the stool to stand in front of her. Some desperate instinct took over his vocal chords to alter the question in the hope that she'd be able to answer. "How much can you tell me?"

Pip barked another bitter-sounding laugh. It was a sound that Rossi was starting to get really sick of hearing, because it spoke volumes about her state of mind. There was plenty of mileage in the phrase about it being better to laugh than cry, but each time Pip laughed like that, Rossi was becoming less and less sure that it was actually true.

"A lot less than I've already told you, believe me," she said drily.

Pip pointed to the courier pouch. "That turned up," she glanced at the clock, "almost an hour ago. It contained a new cell phone and new passport, among other things. Cell rang seconds after I'd opened the pouch, and I got my reactivation orders. Which kicked off with instructions to destroy the sim card in my old cell, pack for an extended desert camping trip and wait for pick up. I leave shortly, and I don't know how long I'll be gone." She shrugged, indicating the futility of the situation. "There's a cover story, of course, something about a job at the Pentagon. I'm sorry, but you'll have to go along with it, no matter how awkward a position it puts you in."

Pip let out a long-suffering sigh and ran a hand through her increasingly messy hair once more. Most of it had escaped the French braid and formed an almost leonine halo around her face. "I'm sorry Dave," she repeated, "I shouldn't have called you. I shouldn't have just handed you that…that burden."

"No, I'm glad you did," he replied, wondering why she was apologising that he'd have to hold up her cover. He'd known that before she'd said it. "At least I know you've gone somewhere on purpose instead of being kidnapped or something." Rossi ran a hand through his own hair, realising it was still sticking up on one side where he'd slept on it. "Why now? After all this time?"

Pip grimaced. "Difficult to explain. If I come back, I promise I'll try to. That's the best I can offer."

"What do you mean, _"if"_ you come back?" said Rossi lowly, his words slow and deliberate. He'd caught up mentally by that point, enough to realise Pip had been deployed somewhere she couldn't say, to do something she couldn't talk about, for reasons she'd probably never be able to tell him. But that little word "if" had sent him into a tailspin all over again and a sickening fear started to build in his gut. She _had_ to come back.

Rossi grabbed her shoulders. "Tell me… _promise me,_ that you meant "when" you come back," he whispered hoarsely. Nobody could order someone on a one-way mission, things like that just _didn't_ happen, not even in the CIA…did they?

Pip shook her head and shrugged out of his grasp. "It's the nature of the job. I can't guarantee anything, not out there. The risks…well, they're high. Things like this always are."

She took a step in his direction so she was back right in front of him, close enough that Rossi could feel the heat of her. "And I won't make that promise, Dave. I'll be honest, my chances of coming back in one piece are probably only even, at best. I refuse to make a promise I'm might not to be able to keep. Not to you."

Pip checked the clock again. "I don't have long." She laid a hand on his chest. "I've been as honest as I can be in the circumstances, will you answer something honestly for me before I have to go?"

"Anything," replied Rossi breathlessly. It wasn't happening. It was a dream, a nightmare of the worst kind, and any moment he'd wake up and Pip wouldn't be leaving him on what still sounded disturbingly like a suicide mission, despite her reassurances.

"You've been holding something back, hiding something from me." Pip frowned. "I didn't see that until the day Damon was convicted, but I realise it started before then."

"Yes," he admitted, unable to lie to her. His heart was pounding like a jackhammer under her hand. Much faster and it would surely burst from his chest. After dancing around it for so long, it was not how he'd envisaged their conversation on that particular subject. For a long time in his imagination, it had involved an evening together at Mama Rosa's, with red wine and wonderful food and Pip smiling at him. Since she'd flown to San Francisco, he'd imagined a quiet chat on her sofa over coffee, a discussion that might lead to something _far_ more interesting than just talking.

Never had he thought it would be a chilly pre-dawn morning in her kitchen with the coffee dripping on the floor. It certainly hadn't involved Pip essentially asking him how he felt in what sounded like a last request, before she left for some obscure CIA operation she couldn't tell him about.

"Will you tell me?" she asked.

"I love you," Rossi said quickly, before he lost his nerve. "I've been in love with you for years," he added, leaning down to kiss her. It was brief and gentle, but he tried to put as much of how he felt into it as he could before pulling back a little. "And I decided that day, that I wanted to make sure that if I was to ever have the…the _honour_ of taking you to bed again, it was going to be because you wanted me as much I've always wanted you," Rossi said softly. "Not because you wanted to forget something else."

Pip's mouth dropped open in an "O" of surprise. In almost any other situation, it would have been comical. "You…but…huh?" she spluttered.

"If I'd known it would make you speechless, I'd have told you sooner," teased Rossi with an uneasy smile.

He'd hoped for a positive reaction, obviously. When he rehearsed the conversation in his head, Pip would kiss him back and they'd live happily ever after. Reality would never match fantasy, and certainly not in the current circumstances, but Pip being completely lost for words _wasn't_ something he'd anticipated.

Rossi took a step backwards, letting her have some space. Perhaps he'd misjudged her behaviour, read something into her actions that simply wasn't there. Without confirmation that she reciprocated his feelings, he had to assume he'd overstepped, that his declaration was unwelcome.

She grabbed his shirt and hauled him back, kissing him, claiming his lips with bruising force. Rossi's hands found themselves in her hair as their tongues battled for dominance.

It was passionate, everything he could have wanted as confirmation.

It was desperate, as they both tried to cram three years into one moment.

It was heart-breaking, because it was also goodbye.

When they parted, gasping for air, Pip laid her head on his chest as he held her. "I'm sorry Dave. I've wasted our time together."

"No," insisted Rossi. "We both did. I should have said something sooner…" It was torture. To finally have her, only to lose her.

Pip looked away, but not before Rossi could see the Pip he knew being suppressed under a veneer of stony coldness.

"It wouldn't have worked," she said. "Our jobs…"

"No one has noticed us yet," he argued.

"…I'm younger than you…"

"I don't care!" Rossi cried desperately.

"…and I couldn't have given you children…"

"There are other options! Pip, please!" exclaimed Rossi in despair. She was already talking about them in the past tense and it was killing him.

"…so, I think it's better if we stay just friends," she finished, as if he hadn't spoken.

"No." He tightened his grip around her body. "You can't just leave. We need to talk about this."

There was an intrusive beep from her new cell phone and Pip straightened in his grasp, jutting her chin. "We've run out of time. I'm sorry, I have to go. It's my job, and I have my orders."

She turned her face back to him, transformation complete. Gone was the Pip he'd kissed only a moment ago. Rossi let go of her and took a step back, because it suddenly felt like he was holding a stranger. The woman in front of him was colder, closed off. None of the attitude and playfulness that characterised Pip. She was a professional, already thinking of the mission, whatever and wherever that may be. He would probably never know, because she would tell him nothing. She even _stood_ differently.

It finally hit him then. Pip was gone, buried and compartmentalised underneath the façade he could see. If her luck ran out, it wouldn't be the Pip he'd known who died serving her country. It would be the new woman. Except…she wasn't new at all. It was who she'd been Before, complete with capital letter.

It wasn't his Pip standing there, it was CIA Officer Harker and Rossi had no idea who that was.

"Wait at least twenty minutes before you leave," she said briskly, gathering her new cell and passport, pausing the sling the backpack over her shoulders. Some of the softness he associated with Pip crept back into the hard expression. "Look after my team for me?" She leaned up and pressed a gentle kiss to his cheek. "Goodbye Dave."

Then she was gone. Rossi stood dumbly in her kitchen wondering what he'd done in life to deserve such overwhelming pain. Years building up to the moment he told her how he felt, and she'd rejected him, just left him standing there. Shock gave way to anger, swiftly followed by despair and then a curious sort of blankness, which was almost a relief. On autopilot, Rossi picked up the broken shards of coffee cup and wiped up the mess Pip had made. He threw the cold untouched coffee down the sink and then washed up the remaining cup.

He dropped it trying to dry it and just stood there, staring at the pieces on the floor. The five pieces became ten, then twenty as Rossi's vision blurred; then he realised he'd been crying all along in great hiccupping sobs.

He didn't go home that night, although there was barely enough darkness left to call it "night" any longer. He rang his housekeeper about 6am to tell her he wouldn't be home for a couple of days and then proceeded to drink the remains of the bottle of whisky Pip had opened for them only the week before. When unconsciousness beckoned, Rossi slept on her side of the mattress, knowing full well that the scent of her would fade from the bedding all too soon. For the rest of the weekend, Rossi drank far more and slept far less than he should have done.

* * *

Pip's concern about her cover story made more sense in the wake of JJ's departure. Hotch had already been in when Rossi rolled up early Monday morning, tired and pissed off. The official line was that Pip had gone to the DoD, as administration team leader for the DoD Media Liaison. Only Rossi knew that was a fabrication, judging by the expression on Hotch's face as he shared that bit of news. Even the position itself didn't make sense until much later, after JJ had been forcibly stolen from them.

Hotch had actually said that as Pip was no longer part of the FBI, Rossi was more than free to openly try and spark up a romantic relationship with her; once whatever argument they'd had over the weekend had been resolved. That Hotch just thought they'd had a minor spat was testament to Rossi's self-control.

"The official barriers have been removed" was the phrase that Hotch had used, offering him a genuine Hotchner smile, that smile that was on the endangered species list, because its sightings were all too infrequent since Hayley's death. Not that it had fared all that much better before.

That smile had cut Rossi so deeply it felt like he was back in those torturous moments in Pip's kitchen. He'd barely suppressed the wince of pain it brought.

Hotch was under the impression that something good could come of her transfer. That there might be a silver lining in all this disruption and upheaval, something worthy of one of his rare smiles. That he might see Rossi happy and in love again, after all this time.

Dear Lord in Heaven, but that hurt _so damn much_.

It was at that moment Rossi realised just how deep he'd gotten into Pip's life, and what that meant for him, now she wasn't there. She'd shared with him the biggest secret that she had and that would have far-reaching consequences. As far as Hotch was concerned, Pip had simply left the FBI.

 _He_ knew better. She had not only left the FBI; she had undoubtedly already left the country, and there was no guarantee she would come back. Not only did Rossi have nobody to share that with, but at least two people he worked closely with would expect, _at the very least_ , for him to be in regular contact with her.

One of whom was sitting opposite him, that smile trying to make itself known again. With a sinking feeling, Rossi realised he could practically see wedding bells ringing in Hotch's expression.

How on Earth was he supposed to deal with that?

The knowledge he carried would eventually weigh him down, and Rossi could clearly see that Pip's continual secrets and misdirection had been her way of protecting him in case something of the ilk happened. His protection had been stripped away, had been as soon as Pip had called him the middle of the night. He was in the middle of it all, whether he liked it or not. No wonder she'd apologised for handing him a burden.

He had to either betray Pip and the confidence she had entrusted him with, or lie to people who not only knew him extremely well, but spotted liars for a living.

He needed some time to work out how he was going to handle it.

Rossi would never know how he managed to look at Hotch and just casually shrug, as if he didn't mind either way.

"I'd like to take some leave when we get back from Atlantic Beach," was all Rossi trusted himself to say through the thoughtful look he manufactured, but it was enough to make the fabled Hotchner smile break out of cover once more.

Rossi had quickly changed the subject.


	37. Devil's Night (S6E6)

_Devil's Night (S6E6)_

 _ **I've always felt there is something sacred in a piece of paper that travels the earth from hand to hand, head to head, heart to heart - Robert Michael Pyle**_

Rossi dragged himself into work, but just sat in his car, staring unseeing through the windshield. It had been a month since Pip left, just under that since JJ left, and the team was starting to adapt to the gap their departures had left behind. Garcia and Hotch were sharing the liaison role, as if they didn't have enough work to do already. In the normal course of things, Hotch had admitted, he would have asked Pip to field some of the paperwork that went with it. There was no way Phillips could handle it on top of everything else. AST were struggling.

They had lost their leader, who had also been their weapons and language specialist. Phillips was competent in both areas, but he had also been left with the task of teaching the two newer members of the team, all while assuming a leadership role he didn't want. Hotch was unwilling to add to his workload. Duffy was still so wet behind the ears Rossi had bought Pip a sponge as a joke only a few days before she'd left. He was a good lawyer, but still new to the ways of the BAU. In the circumstances, Strauss had graciously agreed that Duffy could stay as Pip requested. Rossi had wondered mean-spiritedly if that was just because Strauss didn't want to have two awkward recruitment processes underway at the same time, rather than any real sense of altruism.

Finding someone to fill Pip's shoes would be even more difficult than finding Duffy had been, and Rossi hadn't appreciated until then that for some obscure procedural reason lost in the mists of time, the AST team leader _had_ to be a former field Agent. Finding one who wanted to retire to a desk, one who had the skills necessary…it would be a while before someone other than Phillips was in charge.

Even when they found someone, it wouldn't be Pip, who'd run AST with an iron fist in a velvet glove. Pip's fierce protectiveness of her team and firm but generous nature had completely endeared her to them. Her team had loved and respected her, while still fearing her wrath and temper. They knew she loved and respected them in return. Even Duffy, who'd met both extremes of the Pip personality spectrum, good and bad, in one day.

They'd worked their hardest for her because they hadn't wanted to disappoint her. Something Rossi could identify with. He'd honoured her request to look out for the three young men sat at the back of the bullpen, enough to know that they missed her terribly, and not just on a professional level.

Same as he did. His vacation time, which he'd planned to use working on his book in order to distract himself from Pip's absence, was cut short by the Butcher, another ghost from the past. Rossi knew he'd nearly caught him, all those years ago, and was convinced the new crimes involved him somehow.

Finally coming face to face with the creep hadn't brought any satisfaction though, the monster revealed as a querulous old man who'd pissed his boxers when they breached the house. But laying that case to rest had helped with the writer's block, and Rossi finally had his distraction from the chestnut-haired firecracker he missed so desperately.

A month had dulled the sharp edge of that last conversation with Pip, but it hadn't buried the heartache entirely. Rossi would still glance at her vacant desk as they returned from a case. He would still look up from his work and expect to see her flouncing into his office when the door opened. He'd stopped going to Mama Rosa's, and had managed to resist calling her old cell just to hear her on the voicemail greeting. But he still spent a lot of time at her apartment.

He was there often enough to become quite friendly with the other occupants of her building. Todd Hollands owned the freehold on the whole house, having been left it in his paternal grandmother's will. He shared the second floor with his best friend, Leon Pinter. Both guys had huge trust funds, loaded with more money than they could conceivably spend in several lifetimes. Third sons with no hope of being involved in the family businesses, both were content to just bum around, doing little other than playing video games and smoking weed. They were friendly and harmless, and Rossi was on quite good terms with them. Enough that they didn't question his odd comings and goings.

Mrs Crabtree and Poppy, the scruffy, watery-eyed mongrel that was Mrs Crabtree's pride and joy, inhabited the ground floor. It was a legacy arrangement, one that had been part of the clause that had left the house to Todd in the first place. Mrs Crabtree had been his grandmother's best friend and when she'd passed, Beryl Hollands had asked that her friend Dorothy be allowed to live there for the rest of her days. The ground floor always smelled of old people and piss, with a side order of dog shit and second-hand cabbage. It was usually a relief when the smell of pot overwhelmed the nose about halfway up the stairs.

Dorothy Crabtree was mostly blind and almost completely deaf, possibly a blessing considering the high-pitched yap of the little shit machine she owned that regularly left turds in the hallway for other residents to stand in. Pip had always called them "land mines" and it wasn't far off the truth. There was always one where you'd least expect it. Mrs Crabtree did make good cookies though; Rossi was aware that spending too much time at Pip's place could spell trouble for his waistline.

Amongst other things.

He knew it was probably unhealthy to keep going back there, obsessing over Pip: where she was, what she was doing, but Rossi justified it in his mind by telling himself that when she came back, she wouldn't want the spiders to have moved in. Realistically, it was because he figured that potentially the only way he'd find out if anything untoward happened to her, would be when her utilities were cut off. It wasn't like anyone would know to tell him if something went wrong, he wasn't supposed to know she was gone. If she was dead, she'd no longer be getting a salary, and eventually, the bills would go unpaid. All the time the lights still worked, he could keep hoping.

It was a spectacularly illogical piece of thinking, but he was sticking with it.

Hope, that was bridging factor in his flawed logic. Once his initial surge of anguish had passed, Rossi had decided on hope. Hoping she would come back, hoping they could still have something together. Hoping she was still alive. She had said her chances were even and he'd won on much worse odds before.

Sometimes he could even manage a whole day without thinking about her. Wondering where she was, if she was still among the living. Wondering if she was thinking about him. Hope would be a heavy burden to bear. The heaviest one he'd shouldered in his life, he knew that, but he'd bear it willingly. For her.

* * *

Deciding he'd sat moping in his car long enough, Rossi made an effort to pull himself together so it at least _looked_ like he'd get some work done. He ended up catching Hotch by the elevator. His friend was just standing there staring into middle distance, brows furrowed in cogitation. A pose probably not dissimilar to the one Rossi himself had been wearing only ten minutes previously.

"Morning Aaron." Hotch made no reply. "Hotch?" Rossi followed that up with a gentle elbow to the ribs.

Hotch seemed to come back to himself a little and pressed the elevator call button.

"That was peculiar," he muttered absently.

"Everything ok?" asked Rossi as they travelled upwards.

Hotch nodded. "Yes, just…odd," he said, still deep in thought. "I just had the _strangest_ conversation, with a girl carrying a black lace parasol, wearing so many chains and spikes that she jingled as she walked."

Rossi smirked. Hotch, flummoxed by a woman. How wonderfully unexpected.

"Well, what did she say?" he asked curiously when Hotch made no effort to add anything further.

Hotch shuddered a little. "Too much. I only caught about half of it. It was like talking to Garcia when she's overdone the caffeine."

A conversation and a half then. Rossi chuckled, he'd only met the over-caffeinated version of Garcia once. It had been a late night and Pip had shared her super-strength coffee with the analyst, against his advice. The experience that followed had been enough to give him nightmares for three nights running. Garcia was chirpy and hyperactive at the best of times, multiplying that by any means was downright terrifying. No wonder Hotch had shuddered. Rossi grinned at the expression on Hotch's face, but the grin faded in confusion as Hotch held out a brown internal mail envelope.

"I almost forgot. She asked me to give this to you," said Hotch, clearly as bewildered as Rossi was. "Something about returning a favour on behalf of the Navy. She said you'd know what that meant."

He did. Sort of. With the Navy connection, the description of the woman Hotch had met bore a remarkable resemblance to how Pip had described her forensic scientist friend in D.C., but that favour…that had been Pip, not him.

Wearing his own confused frown, Rossi took the proffered envelope and peered at the contents. Inside was a grubby, battered envelope. Once, it had probably been white, but now it was covered in smudged fingerprints, what he sincerely hoped were coffee stains, mud and assorted greasy marks.

Rossi absently handed Hotch the unnecessary outer envelope and started to open the well-worn one that had been inside.

Hotch laid a cautionary hand on his arm. "Don't you think that should be screened before you open it, Dave? Who knows where it's been, or why."

Rossi paused, considering for a moment. "I think I know who your mysterious delivery girl was. This," he waved the envelope, "will have already been through screening at the Navy Yard in DC."

He ripped it open carefully, despite his reassurance to Hotch. Inside was a small off-white piece of card, the side facing him decorated with an amateur biro drawing in red, depicting an apple cut in half. A seed had fallen from the core of the apple.

Not a seed, a pip. _Pip_.

Rossi laughed. She was alright, and she'd found a way to tell him. Whatever their last interaction meant to her, she still wanted to let him know she was ok. The grin threatened to split his face in half, it felt like it stretched from ear to ear. It was so wide it _hurt_. Regardless of her mission and the unknown risks it entailed, _Pip was alive._

"Care to share?" asked Hotch curiously, attempting to not look like he was trying to peer over Rossi's shoulder to see what had cheered him up so much. Rossi tucked the envelope into a pocket. Hotch was a shade taller than he and could easily sneak a look at the strange delivery if he wanted to.

"Just something from Pip," replied Rossi casually, idly wondering if euphoria usually came with superlative acting skills. He felt like he wanted to dance, shout it from the rooftops, but he'd managed to stand perfectly still and speak off-hand. She was alive, and it felt _so_ _good_. Hope suddenly felt like a wonderful thing and he wondered why he'd been struggling with it.

"I rather thought you and Harker were beyond the stage of passing love notes," commented Hotch. "A few months ago, you practically lived in her apartment."

Rossi shrugged, biting his cheek firmly to stop the grin re-emerging. "She's been out of state for a while. I've not seen her since the transfer." Technically the truth, but skirting the edges of it a little.

"Oh."

Rossi was saved from further probing by the opening of the elevator doors, and had to restrain himself from practically _skipping_ to his office.

With his door closed for some privacy, Rossi re-examined the card. Pip's drawing skills weren't stellar by any means, but her hand was fair enough for the rendering of the apple to be a decent representation, even in red biro. He idly flipped the card over and realised she'd also penned a short note on the back.

" _Sent 2 weeks in. Safe as can be._

 _Delivery is payment of favour owing, so now you owe_ me _._ _Don't go digging._ _"_

Rossi smiled at the familiar tone. At least that hadn't changed. She was still bossing him about, even from however many thousands of miles away from him she was. The smile faded a little as he read and re-read the two lines of cursive. She'd made an effort to disguise her handwriting, but he'd recognise her penmanship anywhere – he'd seen enough of it decorating his reports and files. Obviously, she'd broken protocol again to contact him.

It had taken two weeks for the simple note to get to him, presumably via a whole series of people, if the state of the envelope it had arrived in was anything to go by. Passed from hand to hand on the weight of a favour done to a small team based only a handful of miles away in Washington, so long ago Rossi had forgotten about it. There would be no possibility of working out where it came from or where it had been.

And she'd told him not to try. She'd even underlined it twice.

The card ended up in his wallet, so he could keep it close as they flew out for another case. Hotch had alerted him from his musings with the expedient method of knocking on the wall they shared. Since overhearing the row between Pip and Strauss, they'd agreed they'd make use of the flimsiness of the partition to their advantage.

It meant Rossi was the first in the conference room waiting for the rest of the team, and he found himself doodling furiously on his pad as if trying to burn off excess energy. Everything was going to be ok. He knew it, he could just tell. It would all work out.

* * *

If anyone had told Rossi twenty years ago he'd get sick of flying across the country in a luxury jet, he'd have laughed at them. Recently, he hated flying home from a case because he knew Pip wouldn't be there to meet him. Flying home from the burnings in Detroit was different. For the first time in a month, Rossi didn't glare out the window the whole way home. He held Pip's drawing in his hands and slept easy, a faint smile lingering on his face.


	38. Lauren (S6E18)

_Lauren (S6E18)_

 _ **The death of a beloved is an amputation - C.S. Lewis**_

Rossi gazed blankly at Emily's coffin. The irony had not escaped him.

There he stood, surrounded by people grieving for a live woman everyone else thought dead, while he was grieving for a dead woman everyone else thought was still alive. If they gave her a second thought at all.

Hope, Rossi had decided, was a fickle, untrustworthy thing. What had buoyed him up, crippled him instead. What had helped him sleep, kept him awake. Hope. Such a small word that held so many connotations, the potential for so much joy and so much pain.

Rossi had given up on hope.

Hope was a black hole of devastation. What was once so bright had turned murky and consumed everything. For every sliver of hope that had faded away never to be seen again, the remainder had felt exponentially heavier and darker.

Hope had convinced him of continuing communication from Pip.

Hope had convinced him that he'd be able to trace the notes he'd thought he'd receive, giving him clues as to where she might be.

Hope had convinced him that they still had a chance, once she returned from whatever it was that she was doing. That he could convince her to change her mind.

Hope had convinced him she was still alive.

He had hoped, and hope had fucked him. Royally.

It had been more than six months since he'd heard from Pip. The drawing she'd sent had been the only one, his prayer for at least semi-regular contact had gone unanswered. There had been days he'd decided it was a good thing, that he'd rather not know the worst when the communication abruptly ceased. Then there were the days he'd desperately wished he knew if she was still there, or if the reason he hadn't received anything else from her was because the worst had already happened.

Hope. Damned if you do, damned if you don't.

Rossi certainly felt damned. _Cursed_ , even.

Work had gone on without Pip, obviously. But some of the thrill had gone from the chase. There were days Rossi felt like he was just going through the motions.

He didn't have a Bucket List, and hiking the Appalachian Trail wouldn't have been on it even before the BAU had to hunt down a man abusing young boys up and down its length. It certainly wasn't on Rossi's to-do list now they knew there was a serial killer traversing the path. They'd saved the boy but lost the UnSub.

Ashley Seaver would turn out as a first-class Agent one day, he could see that from the way she behaved in New Mexico. Beauchamp's daughter, all grown up. Her serial killer father would be spinning in his grave but for the lack of capital punishment in North Dakota. Brave and fearless, she'd walked straight into danger and used her personal experience of serial killers to make Drew Jacobs pause long enough for the rest of the team to get to her.

A modern-day Bonnie & Clyde in Montana, murdering as they moved. He'd lost count in the end of how many they'd slain as they travelled across state.

And then Ian Doyle had arrived to make life even more difficult and the world had collapsed down around his ears.

* * *

It had just been the angle of view from where he was sitting as they consoled themselves, after JJ gave them the bad news about Emily. Chance, or perhaps it had been deliberate. Whatever the reason, Rossi had seen JJ and Hotch talking. JJ's eyes had flickered over to Rossi once Hotch turned away, and she'd held his gaze, apparently glad he'd seen them. There was a message there, if only he could decipher it. It had taken a while, but he'd worked out that Emily hadn't really died on the table and thought that was the answer to the mystery. He just didn't understand why JJ had wanted him to know.

She'd found him hiding in his office many hours later, morosely staring out the window with a glass of scotch in his hand. It was stupid-o'clock in the morning and he was drinking the last of the bottle Pip had bought for him, trying to banish some of the darkness of his thoughts.

"Dave?" JJ said from the doorway. "I'm sorry."

"Really?" he asked bitterly. "You _lied_ to me. To all of us," he hissed, trying not to raise his voice while the door was open. He didn't know who else was around, somehow he'd lost track of several hours and the comings and goings of the people that had still been there when he'd stomped into his office in search of a drink to calm himself.

JJ closed the door behind her and walked over to stand beside him at the window. "Sometimes it's necessary to do things to make a cover story deep enough."

"And yet, here you are, apologising for it," snapped Rossi, her softly knowing tone just aggravating him even more. "Why me, JJ? Why not tell everybody she's still alive?"

"The fewer people who know, the better." JJ folded her arms and turned to face him, raising an eyebrow. The softness was gone, replaced with a slightly condescending, harder, _motherly_ sort of expression. "That's how cover stories _work_ ," she said slowly, as if pointing out the obvious. "It protects _everyone_."

She paused, watching his face for a reaction. To what, Rossi didn't know. He hadn't worked that out yet.

"Do you see what I'm saying?" she asked.

Rossi tried to mentally backtrack. JJ hadn't yet mentioned Emily by name, and it was at that point that he started to realise they were having _two_ conversations. One aloud, the other _underneath_ the words being spoken. One that had started as soon as JJ met his eyes after getting a phone call earlier, while they were still at the hospital waiting for news on Emily.

But Rossi was tired and pissed off, and just didn't know what it was JJ was trying to tell him. What she'd been trying to tell him all day. "To put them through burying her…" he said instead, focussing on Emily, the conversation he understood. He turned away from the window, moving to put his tumbler down on his desk. "You're going to make them _grieve_ ," he spat. "They may _never_ forgive you. Or her, for that matter, for making them bury _an empty coffin."_

"It's better than not being able to do it at all," said JJ softly. He turned as he heard her move closer, carefully, like he was a new-born colt about to bolt for the door. "When someone is missing in action and presumed dead, it's even worse." JJ laid a gentle hand on his arm and met his dark eyes with her blue ones, brimming with knowing sympathy. "Dave, I'm sorry. She's gone." A tear rolled down her cheek, followed by two more. "I'm so sorry."

Rossi actually _felt_ the blood drain from his face and the strength leave his legs. He leaned against his desk lest he fall.

JJ was talking about Pip. _That_ was why she had wanted him to know about Emily.

JJ worked at the Pentagon, was obviously aware and possibly even part of Pip's cover story. If anyone might know if something happened to the woman he loved, it would be JJ. A connection he'd not considered in the months since Pip's departure. JJ _was_ talking about Pip, he had no doubt about it. There was no one else could she possibly mean. Certainly not Emily, she had already all but confirmed that her supposed demise was a fabrication.

She'd tried to soften the blow, but JJ had just given him his notification of Pip's death.

Oh God. He took it all back. Not knowing was _infinitely_ better.

"No." The hoarse sound that emerged from his throat was unrecognisable as belonging to him, but flat-out denial was more appealing than entertaining the possibility JJ was right. Rossi slumped sideways, landing in the seat in front of his desk more by luck than judgement. He covered his suddenly burning eyes with a hand that shook, badly.

"She's coming back, JJ. She _has_ to come back," he whispered, feeling the dream slip through his fingers like smoke.

JJ laid a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. "She can't, Dave."

"You're sure?" he asked thickly, his voice cracking around the lump in his throat. Not that he particularly wanted to hear it confirmed.

"No." JJ sighed heavily. "We may never find out for sure, but she's not where she's supposed to be. Under the circumstances, even without a body, that can really only mean one thing." The hand on his shoulder tightened. "She asked me to tell you if…if she couldn't come back. I'm so sorry. I know she loved you very much."

She'd left him in his office, bowed and broken with despair.

In a peculiar way, JJ had done him a favour. With Emily's death as a disguise, he'd been able to openly mourn for Pip, camouflaged among the team mourning for Emily.

* * *

The remainder of the funeral was horrendous. He'd laid a flower on the coffin, a rose like everyone else, but with an apple leaf tangled in the thorns. Apple for his Pip, like she'd drawn for him. All Rossi could think was that she might never have a funeral, never have the line of mourners to pay their respects. People like him. JP and Mark. Garcia. Phillips, Griffin and Duffy. Hotch and the rest of the team. His gesture was a small one, but at least it was _something_.

JJ met his eyes briefly, the slightest of nods telling him that she'd seen what he'd done and shared in his pain. Rossi turned away, unable to formulate a response that wouldn't involve bawling like a child. Pip could be anywhere, may never be found. He tried valiantly to banish thoughts of her body being savaged by carrion eaters or rotting quietly in a nameless ditch somewhere, as Emily's empty coffin was laid to rest.

That night as he tried to sleep, those images morphed into something far worse: Pip still alive but being tortured for information, or injured far from help and dying a slow, agonised death.

Unable to face those thoughts alone, rattling around in his huge house with nobody except for his dog for company; Rossi packed a bag in the middle of the night and left. He spent the next ten days with Mudgie camped out in Pip's apartment. Somehow, he didn't feel quite so alone there.


	39. Supply & Demand (S6E24)

_Supply & Demand (S6E24) _

_**Hope is the last thing a person does before they are defeated - Henry Rollins**_

It was early, even by BAU standards. Rossi could clearly see it wasn't just him, nobody else had any idea what the meeting was all about either. In a room full of profilers, with the year they'd had, it was easy to see how they'd leapt on Reid's dire pronouncement that the last time Hotch had called such a gathering was because Gideon was leaving.

The last thing they needed was to lose another. Two in less than a year was a high turnover for such a tight-knit team. Emily might be alive, but the rest of them didn't know that, and in reality, it didn't matter. Alive or dead, she wasn't there. There was still a hole where she should be, same as there was one for JJ.

For him, of course, it was actually three. Three people he'd lost, although one vastly overshadowed the other two in his mind, the hole considerably darker and deeper. He'd lost JJ and Emily from his working life, but Pip had _been_ his life. Her absence in everything he did just made the void that much more pronounced. Christmas had been an exercise in willpower, Rossi enduring the holiday season without Pip by hiding away in his office and talking to no one.

He'd considered going back into retirement more than once in the first few weeks after JJ had told him the bad news, and had done so again when he came back from seeing Yates on his birthday. What a horrific experience _that_ had been. Yates had been disgustingly full of enthusiastic birthday cheer on Rossi's behalf, and it had been all Rossi could do to get the name and location out of him without smashing the bastard's head into a wall.

His days both dragged slowly and sped along too fast to count. Life without Pip was less bright, less interesting and that made it hard to keep track of the months as they flowed by. He had eventually realised that retiring in his current mood would just mean his inevitable slow spiral downwards, with nothing to do except wait alone for the end. All the time he had a reason to get out of bed every day, it would mean he _would_ get out of bed. If chasing rapists and murderers kept him occupied, then he'd rather work until he dropped, thank you very much.

It didn't help that Seaver had cosied up to him recently. She'd manoeuvred herself to sit next to him when they'd sat down to wait for Hotch, her boldest move to date. The hero-worship she'd developed when she was younger had grown into a full-blown crush since the events that Doyle set in motion. He'd given her a ringing compliment in the heat of the moment and she'd taken it to heart, and she was getting harder and harder to avoid.

He'd tried to take her under his wing a little, and it had backfired spectacularly. Rossi was desperately trying not to encourage her. He remembered Seaver as a _child_ , when he'd arrested her father for some truly horrific acts of depravity. Seaver was a nice girl, and would be a terrific agent, but he simply wasn't interested. She wasn't Pip. The eyes needed to be stronger, hazel not blue, and the face older. Wiser. The humour sharper, the language courser. Every time Seaver smiled at him, the light that had been in Pip's eyes was missing.

It needed to be Pip, and it wasn't.

The rescue of Hotch arriving was enough make Seaver quit making cow eyes at him, but didn't turn out to be much of a rescue after all. News that budgetary issues were in the offing, that they were going to be getting outside offers…suddenly Reid's unfortunate recall of similar circumstances didn't seem so far-fetched. Rossi wondered if he should have a word with Hotch about Seaver, to make use of what seemed to be legitimate opportunity to get the girl far away from him as possible and give her a well-deserved chance at a prime posting at the same time.

The look on Hotch's face worried him, however.

"Are you staying here?" Rossi asked, trying to keep his voice level. Hotch had unknowingly kept him sane in the months since Pip's death. Hotch _and_ Jack, because helping to coach Jack's soccer team was about the only happy thing he had to hang onto these days. Getting up early was easy for a man who barely slept anymore. If Hotch was leaving, then maybe retirement and all that would entail wasn't _such_ a terrible option.

"It's my intention." Hotch met Rossi's eyes and then glanced away. His intentions didn't mean _dick_ if there was politics involved, and they both knew it.

The entire conversation was deferred until later when Virginia State Police called in what they insisted was a serial killer dead in an auto accident. Rossi glanced at Pip's empty desk as he headed out to Route 7 with Morgan, resigned to the fact that it was going to be one of those days when she wasn't far from his mind, no matter where he turned.

* * *

He was right. All around him, all day, were sights and sounds that conjured images of Pip and it was crucifying.

The knife wounds on the female body in the trunk reminded him of watching Pip go through her daily sets, bending and stretching with her training blades in her hands. They'd sparred with sticks once, while out walking Mudgie one afternoon. He'd gone easy on her first time around, letting her win, and she'd thoroughly told him off. Second time he'd tried his hardest, sure he'd win, and she'd beaten him soundly, finishing off with a rap across the back of his hand hard enough to make him drop his "weapon". They'd laughed about it all the way home, then again when he'd cracked his already sore knuckles against the counter as he cooked for them that evening. He'd sworn profusely in more than one language and then thrown his spatula at her in disgust when she'd corrected his grammar, all while still laughing at him.

It had been a while since he'd seen Andi Swann, long enough to forget her hair was the same colour as Pip's, almost exactly. He'd found one, the other day. A long single strand of wavy coppery-brown that could only be Pip. The last time he'd worn that particular jacket had been a night out eating Italian with her. She hadn't bothered with a coat and it had rained on the way home, so he'd loaned her his. They were both sopping wet by the time they'd dashed back to her apartment, but at least her hair was dry. That had been the most important thing, in her mind. Untamed, her hair was practically sentient and getting it wet was the cue for some _serious_ curls. She'd growled at him for saying he liked them. He'd laughed before realising he was on thin ice and spent the next ten minutes trying to avoid a wet t-shirt whipping for his crime. She'd chased him around her tiny apartment clad only in wet jeans and bra, brandishing her shirt and calling him all the names under the sun, both of them laughing and dripping all over the place.

Renee Matlin's bravery and determination to head into the jaws of danger was so much like Pip it was uncanny. She hadn't wanted to leave, she'd even said so, that night so long ago. That she wasn't cut out for it, that she knew there was a chance she wasn't coming back. She'd done it anyway, bravely striding into the darkness with a determined frown.

All day, Rossi was tortured. When they breached the compound and Morgan got his ass handed to him by a guy big enough he'd even make Hank Duffy think twice, Rossi had been desperately hoping the Neanderthal would twitch for a gun. Anything to have an excuse to shoot him, because he couldn't stand much more of what had been a _very_ long day and killing the huge sonofabitch would _really_ help him keep a lid on things.

Like all his other hopes, that one also went unheeded. Morgan cuffed the hulking brute and they moved deeper into the compound, clearing rooms as they went. They found Matlin unconscious and bleeding, but alive, in a large room in the basement of the building. Along with quite a few scumbags that in Rossi's opinion, ought to be locked up and have the key thrown away.

The prognosis for Swann's UC was good, her vitals stable as they wheeled her away. They'd rescued the agent, arrested the bad guys and saved a group of young people from a horrible fate along the way. It had been a long day, and they'd done good, but Rossi just felt hollow, like there was nothing left to give. It seemed no matter how well things could turn out, Pip was still the only thing he could think about if there wasn't something to immediately distract him.

Was that all that was left for him? Waiting for some sick fuck to hurt someone just so he had a job to do?

He was disturbed from his introspection by an escape attempt in an SUV. Nobody hesitated, shooting into the cab to disable the driver and the front seat passenger. Somebody got them almost immediately, the SUV quickly crashing to an untidy stop against a police car. Rossi dashed over to the wreck to confirm the driver and passenger were dead, before yanking open the rear door to a terrified feminine scream from inside.

As had so much else during that day, the girl in the back of the totalled SUV reminded him of Pip for some reason. All he could think about was looking after her. The hair was darker and straighter and the face too thin for her to _look_ like Pip, but it didn't matter. Saving this one felt important. Save a life instead of taking one, maybe that was the way to end the day without feeling empty. Rossi quickly holstered his weapon and held his arms out to the girl, offering calming reassurances. Promises that the ordeal was over. He supported her gently by the arms and led her carefully away from the bodies in the car, away from any more trauma. She'd seen enough of that already.

It only took a few seconds of speaking to her to realise that something was very wrong. That part of the reason this woman, because she wasn't a girl by any means; reminded him of Pip, was the sense of secrecy and hidden things. It was why Pip had caught his attention in the first place: capable, yet with an intriguing air of mystery.

On high alert by that point, Rossi asked a few more questions, and finally one that made the woman look straight at him, instead of side-on.

He knew, a split second before Hotch hollered behind him and started to run. Killer's eyes. He'd seen enough of them to recognise what he saw. This woman was their UnSub, the leader. She was dangerous, and he hadn't checked her for a weapon, taken in by the frightened act and blinded by a twisted resemblance to the woman he loved. And he did still love her, JJ's notification notwithstanding.

The UnSub raised the gun, the one he'd known she had as soon as she'd met his eyes. A snub-nose .38 by the look of it. She'd been playing Russian Roulette with Swann's undercover agent, and her luck had finally come in. If she fired, he was dead. House wins.

Rossi could see the bullet that would end his life down the barrel of the revolver. A little metallic glint winked at him in the headlights and strobing blues of the police cars behind him. He could see the bullet, but in that moment, all he really saw was freedom from the torment he'd endured all day. With all his heart, he welcomed it.

Rossi closed his eyes and calmly waited for the end. I'm coming, Pip. Wait for me, _bella_.

The shot came, but it was Morgan who fired. Standing to the side of them, he dropped the UnSub with one round. Rossi was left standing, unharmed yet unable to move, trying to decide whether he was disappointed or not.

* * *

He made his way back to his darkened office in search of a drink. Everyone else had thankfully taken his advice to do as Hotch said, and go home. Still shaken by his momentary death-wish, Rossi had one last thing to do. One more meeting, and he'd need a shot of something beforehand.

The image of the deadly round nestled in the chamber pointed at his face crossed Rossi's mind in mocking reminder. A shot of something, indeed. He'd come very close to death earlier, and he'd been at peace with that, something he'd always disputed vehemently would ever happen. Fight to the end was more his style, always had been. Never let the bastards win. Until that evening.

He'd just stood there, waiting for release from the agony. Was that what Pip would have wanted for him?

Unlikely.

JJ had called just before they'd gathered in the Conference Room in the early hours to wait for Hotch, to wait to talk about the bombshell he'd dropped the previous morning. She'd asked to stop by to talk but hadn't elaborated. Even though Rossi had previously spoken to her about coming back to the BAU he was convinced it wasn't going to be about that. The last time she'd deliberately sought him out to talk in the middle of the night had been to tell him Pip was missing in action, and thus dead.

Rossi had therefore been immediately convinced it was going to be the last nail in his coffin. The news that Pip's body had finally been found. At that thought, his chest had tightened so painfully that for moment, he wondered if he was finally having the heart attack his third ex-wife had drunkenly wished upon him when they woke up together in his hotel room. The last shred of hope he'd held onto writhed in its death throes, and then fluttered out of his grasp like so much ashes in the breeze.

He'd agreed to meet JJ and then stood in the Conference Room with the rest of the team, biting his lip as Pip used to do when she was worried. He'd kept his voice steady by keeping one hand in his pocket and pinching his thigh painfully, mentally pleading them to do as he said and leave, get out, get away from him.

Finally he was alone, still mentally pulling himself together as he wearily opened his office door.

He didn't notice her at first, sat in the shadows. It wasn't until she fidgeted, crossing her legs in the dappled light thrown from the walkway through his half-closed blinds, that he saw her. Rossi closed the door behind him with a heavy heart. If JJ was already here, then she'd called him from outside, knowing he was still in the building. The drink he wanted would have to wait until he got home. And he would go home, to his house, not Pip's. With final confirmation of death, it belonged to her next of kin, whoever that may be. He had no rights there any more, if he'd actually had any to start with. He'd pay to bury her though, come hell or high water. He'd give her the glorious send-off she so richly deserved.

"You said we needed to talk, but at 2am?" Rossi asked, trying to conceal his unease.

Steely and determined, JJ was returning to the BAU as a profiler, a full member of the team. Pip had been right about JJ all along, Rossi just wished she'd been around to see it. As she was leaving, Rossi admitted that much aloud, acknowledging what they both knew. He hadn't meant to, but giddy with relief that she wasn't there to tell him that Pip's corpse was being shipped home in a box, he couldn't help it slipping out.

"Me too," was all JJ said to that, sadly, as if echoing both the spoken and unspoken sentiments. She left, leaving him standing in his office alone, feeling even worse than before.

When he got home, he sought solace at the bottom of a large glass of scotch. Then another, followed by two more. He stopped counting after that, in the vain hope that he'd forget Pip was never coming back.

 _Fin_

* * *

A/n: Please don't throw things, I bruise easily!

If you've made it this far with me, well done, it's been many months in the making. I couldn't have done it without the endless patience of my poor husband, who has had strange questions about all sorts of weird and wonderful things thrown at him, usually when he least expects it.

This concludes the first part of the trilogy. The next part is written for the most part, but needs some polishing. I will be taking a break from posting for a month or so while I get that done, and to give me time to get on with the third instalment.

The second part is entitled _Criminal Minds: The Long Summer_ and primarily covers the unseen summer between S6 & 7 and all the cases the BAU tackle in that time. I had the opportunity to go a little off-piste and I thoroughly enjoyed myself...

Watch this space! I expect to start posting The Long Summer around early December.

Thank you for all your support, I treasure each and every like, follow and review. It means a lot.

I have to mention _Rossi's Lil Devil_ , my faithful reviewer, who I think has reviewed nearly every chapter. High five and cookies for you.

Forestwytch


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